The Hum of Being Alive

Sometimes I stop.
I put my attention where my heart is located,
and there it is—
a silence.

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Not the silence of endings,
but the silence of survival,
of humble gratitude that I am still here.

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It hums beneath my ribs,
a rhythm older than thought,
softer than fear,
steadier than doubt.

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I remember the storms I endured,
the chains I carried,
the nights I wondered if I would see morning.
All of it folds into this quiet hum.

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It is not loud.
It does not boast.
It simply reminds me:
life is still mine to live.

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The hum of being alive
is the throne I sit on.
Not gilded, not grand—
but sacred, steady,
and undeniable.