Mid-sentence

You’re already mid-sentence when you realize it.

You’re talking.

And something you just said doesn’t feel true.

Not wrong.

Just… not quite where you are.

It sounded right as it came out.
It even made sense.

They’re listening.

Nodding.

Taking you in.

And there’s a small moment where you could keep going.

Finish the thought.
Stay consistent with what you started.

It would be easy.

There’s nothing forcing you to stop.

But something in your body has gone slightly quiet.

Not shut down.

Just… less behind what you’re saying.

You hear yourself continue.

The sentence keeps moving.

But you’re a half-step behind it now.

There’s a thin layer between you and your own words.

You notice it.

And for a second, you don’t know what to do with that.

You could correct it.

Backtrack.

Say it differently.

Or you could just let it pass.

Keep talking.

Let the moment close over it.

You feel the pull in both directions.

Forward.
And back toward something more exact.

Your breath changes a little.

They’re still listening.

Nothing looks off.

But you can feel it.

You’re still speaking.

But not fully from where you are.