What Remains

When the noise has finished being noisy, when the urgent thing has finally resolved or simply exhausted itself,

what remains?

Not the performance. Not the version of yourself you held together for the room.

What remains is quieter.

The small thread of trust you kept hold of even when you couldn't explain why.

The word that came at three in the morning and did not leave.

The friend who stayed when staying cost something.

The knowledge, worn smooth by handling, that you are not what this season says you are.

Faith is mostly what remains after everything easier has been stripped away.

And it turns out that what remains is enough.

It has always been enough. You just couldn't see it for the noise.