The cable winds and winds,
around my fingers, around my thoughts.
I seek clarity in the loops,
but the knots remain,
silent, silent… like a prayer
echoing in the tiled room,
where the water bucket sits.

Repetition, repetition of days,
of breaths held in pauses,
of moments tangled in silence.
I ask, I wonder,
in the stillness of morning light,
where the water waits,
reflecting the cracks, the beauty.

The charger coils, the heart beats,
searching for connection, for peace.
In the quiet, in the echo,
I find the answer, the whisper
of something broken, yet whole.
The water ripples gently,
revealing the art of imperfection.