[between breaths]

[and silence. But for once, patience and silence took no effort at all. They had, overnight, become second nature. They had become home.

There was, clearly, a need to stop and take it in. He'd learnt very early to accept things at face value. It would take time to understand that there was more than this, and to know what that more was.

He'd always thought that what could be relied upon were things that could be seen. There were facts—indisputable facts. When you saw them, you knew what to do, and you did it. Simple.

He'd hinged his life on that understanding, and it had worked. Nothing concrete was so overwhelming that it would keep you from your bed that night, keep the sun from rising the next day. Keep your heart from beating. Keep you from toast and Vegemite and scanning the headlines while the kettle boiled.

Now, it was as if the space between his breaths had been extended—like he'd exhaled, fully and finally, some time ago, but hadn't yet taken in more air.

A certain tide had rushed out, revealing the pure, empty beach where he found himself alone. Now he was waiting for the next tide. The next wave. Waiting patiently, silently, for the next breath]