It begins with the air shifting,
a sound breaking the rhythm of the ordinary—
a word so common it vanishes
into the seams of a day, fully unnoticed—
Hello.
Do you know its weight?
A bridge suspended by breath,
carrying the hesitance of strangers
and the return of old friends.
Do you offer it like a coin,
out of habit or necessity,
or cast it like a line,
seeking connection where meaning hides?
Each hello unlocks a window,
letting in an untamed breeze,
a truce held in a word of two beats,
the smallest hinge shifting the axis
of belonging.
What if we met it again?
Gave it the fullness of its meaning?
What if hello was not the end of boldness,
but its first spark?
What if we found the courage,
once more,
to say
hello?
