As Our Breath Each word, silent light— sightless, we reach through the dark with fingers for rays. What if we sense our years as our own breath? Perhaps impermanence will compel us to leave memories behind? Perhaps we carry them into the future? And try to stay alive and smile after hopeless days’ cry. Alive, as the sea mile across the ocean of solitude. What is not good for the ocean cannot be good for the drop. (January 28, 2026) Where Another Story Begins Every century leaves something unsaid. Even a millennium cannot speak it fully. What remains unspoken does not change — it lives in the silence between words, where another story begins. Pearls res...