In the spaces where all movement ceases.
Where we exist in the throb that echoes loosely between heartbeats.
In the lull.
In the ebb.
In the rush of time.
We exist and our measure is taken.
Moment by moment.
Act by act.
And we are weighed.
Will you be lighter than a feather?
Or is it only a kindness to pretend that it could be so?
That the sum total of our breaths, our moments, will balance out.
And we will be judged worthy.