The Breath Before It All Changes
Sometimes, the most unforgettable moment isn’t the explosion.
It’s the silence right before it.
The breath before the confession.
The pause before the goodbye.
The second before the truth is spoken—or swallowed.
We’re so used to chasing closure. Finality. A wrapped-up ending with a label we can point to—success, failure, love, loss. But life doesn’t always hand us that. Sometimes, it leaves us hanging right at the edge of something irreversible… and just stands there, watching what we’ll do with it.
And you know what? That space—unanswered, open, aching—is its own kind of sacred.
It’s the moment right before the surgeon begins.
Before the apology is accepted.
Before the last text is sent.
Before the door closes for good.
You think you need the outcome to feel something. But sometimes, the outcome isn’t the point.
Sometimes, the not knowing holds more weight than any ending could.
Because the not knowing? It asks who you are without the guarantees.
It asks if you’d still choose to be kind, even if they won’t say sorry.
If you’d still stay, even if you’re not sure they’ll ever change.
If you’d still forgive, even without a clean resolution.
It asks what you’re made of in the waiting.
And it’s there—in that breath before it all changes—that we often reveal our truest selves.
Not in the aftermath.
Not in the story told later.
But right there, in the fragile, trembling pause.
So if you’re standing in one of those moments right now, wondering what will happen, aching for clarity… maybe you don’t need the ending just yet. Maybe you just need to know that this in-between place isn’t empty.
It’s alive.
It’s holy.
And it matters.
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