Dinner was just rice and an egg.
But I ate it slowly.
And it tasted like peace.

You caught the space between moments and made it speak.

You’ve described something tender without breaking it.

This felt like being wrapped in a quiet moment.

This post speaks softly but leaves a mark.

You just named the feeling better than I could.

You didn’t just write this. You released it.

You caught something fleeting and made it last.

You say things without shouting — and that’s why they echo.

It’s rare to see writing that respects the silence.