Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil—
that’s what someone once said, wasn’t it?
But who decides which is which?
The whisper between light and shadow
is thinner than breath,
and yet the whole world trembles on it.
A chance encounter—
not with what is,
but with what we believe it to be.
Every thought a vibration,
every word a stone dropped into the quiet water
where we all stand, barefoot and waiting.
The ripples move outward,
past our fences, past our guilt,
past the version of ourselves
that pretends not to listen.
We speak in anger
and call it truth.
We bite our tongues
and call it peace.
Both build ghosts.
They follow us long after the moment’s gone,
lingering in the echo chamber
where memory hums its lonely tune.
If only…
The two words that chain more souls
than all the sins combined.
If only I’d said it.
If only they’d heard me.
If only time could bend back
to the hour the silence began.
There are people still stuck there—
forever young in the golden light of a song,
a laugh frozen mid-air,
their hearts replaying a better decade
on a loop that never ends.
They think if they hold onto the sound,
they can bring back the moment
they let die in their throat.
But the music keeps playing,
and the world keeps turning
for those who dare to listen again.
You can still find it—
that same rhythm,
that same truth—
in the pause before you speak,
in the softness before you shout.
There’s an old soul somewhere,
maybe a god,
maybe just a man with dirt on his hands,
turning the wheel of time slowly.
He doesn’t speak much anymore.
He just hums a melody we all used to know
and waits for us to remember
that words are spells
and silence is a choice.
So before you throw another stone
into the still water,
before you let the “if only”
turn into another ghost—
say what’s true,
say it kindly,
say it while you can.
Because in the end,
you are all you have,
and the sound between words
is where eternity listens.
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