You never spoke in words,
but in absences—
in half-drunk coffee cups,
in songs you skipped
because they said too much.

As the words you spoke
danced like petals in the wind,
it’s hard to catch ’em
as they twirl in the breeze—
too light to hold,
too heavy to forget.

So I learned to read the pauses,
the space between your laughter
and the quiet that followed.
I gathered your silence
like letters you never meant to send.

As the mail was delivered
I noticed the intimacy we had
grew deeper—
yet I failed to notice
what it truly meant
to carry the weight of such.

I folded every message close,
pressed them to my chest like prayer,
not knowing some gifts demand
a strength I wasn’t ready to wear.

Eventually,
I damaged the gifts given to me—
with no knowledge on how to preserve
or build ’em back.
Lost in old habits without building anew,
I broke something so fragile.

If I could speak the language you taught—
softly, without fear or haste—
I’d cradle every shard I shattered,
and tend the wounds with hands more gentle,
knowing now the cost of silence.

Nothing I say can ever change
decisions made out of immaturity,
actions made without thinking.
See what you held so deeply—
be destroyed by your own ignorance.

I sit here praying that—
maybe, just maybe—
I can get another chance
to cherish the moment I missed.

If love is measured not in perfect days,
but in the courage to admit our ways,
then know my heart still holds your name—
with quiet grace, and no more blame.
I walk forward, tender and wise,
carrying both truth and your light in my eyes.