The Butterfly Effect

I live in the pause between raindrops, in the space where small choices swell into tides. My hands trace paths no one else sees—on maps drawn in red thread, in the flight of a moth against a windowpane, in the glance exchanged between strangers that changes both their lives. I speak in weather patterns and wingbeats, in the language of coffee rings and train delays. You may not hear me, but you will feel me.