The Drawer of Silence — Inside is Roses Artwork

The cupboard stood quietly in the late afternoon light, its old wooden surface glowing with the colours I once painted onto it. When I opened the drawer that felt heavier than the rest, the air shifted — soft, familiar, like stepping into a memory I didn’t know I had been missing.

Inside lay my old sketchbook. The one I carried everywhere two years ago. The one that held small moments I didn’t want to lose.

I lifted it gently, feeling the softened edges, the way time had rounded the corners. The cupboard seemed to breathe with me, as if relieved I had finally returned for what it had been keeping safe.

I opened the sketchbook, and the pages whispered as they turned — unfinished lines, quiet beginnings, thoughts that simply waited in the scent of ink and summer.

And then I found it.

The roses.

Pen drawing of the roses and poem in opened sketchbook 

Drawn in pen, simple and honest, leaning toward the sun as if they remembered the warmth of that day. The petals curved softly, the stems swayed with a breeze I could almost feel again. It was a sketch made quickly, but with attention — the kind of attention that only happens when the world is still.

Beneath it, in my own handwriting:

Sunny day today

A delicate roses dancing with the wind

Sweet silence

Reading it again felt like stepping back into that moment — the quiet and calm air, the golden sunlight lingers on my hands, the way the roses moved gently without needing to be seen.

The cupboard seemed to smile in its wooden way, as if it were humming my poem back to me.

It had kept this drawing, this poem, this small piece of my past self — not hidden, just waiting for the right time to return.

I closed the sketchbook, holding it for a moment before placing it back inside the drawer. Some memories don’t ask to be displayed. Some simply want to be revisited, softly, like this one.

When I slid the drawer shut, the cupboard felt as if whispering:

“You’ve always known how to listen to quiet things.”

Sometimes the things we create in silence return to us, when we need them most. A sketch, a few lines of ink, a moment we once captured without knowing why — they wait patiently in the drawers of our lives. Maybe this is a reminder to open those drawers from time to time, to revisit the small pieces of ourselves we left behind.

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