The Third Thing

The Third Thing

We gather in a room,

or a screen, or a story.

There is you,

there is me—

and then there is

what we place between us.

Sometimes it’s a poem,

sometimes a song

sung half under breath.

We call it

the third thing

because it doesn’t belong

to either of us

but speaks anyway.

It is the thread

we don’t tug too hard.

The flicker that says:

here is something to wonder about

together.

It doesn’t ask for answers.

Only a pause.

A breath before speaking.

And maybe that’s enough—

a shared pause,

a circle made not of certainty

but attention.

Each time we sit beside

the thing we both admire

and neither owns,

we are more ourselves.