There is this deep loneliness of the heart
when you leave too much unsaid,
all the words lodged in the throat,
slowly choking,
the throat closing in on itself.
This feeling in your upper chest,
the slow rising of the words—
they become this living thing,
taking these deep breaths,
ribs rising with them
and deflating.
And you search for hearts through eyes;
you feel the wearing of your heart,
and you search for hearts through eyes.
You look for black and white,
but it's all just murky shades of grey.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 1:13 PM UTC
There is this deep loneliness of the heart
when you leave too much unsaid,
all the words lodged in the throat,
slowly choking,
the throat closing in on itself.
This feeling in your upper chest,
the slow rising of the words—
they become this living thing,
taking these deep breaths,
ribs rising with them
and deflating.
And you search for hearts through eyes;
you feel the wearing of your heart,
and you search for hearts through eyes.
You look for black and white,
but it's all just murky shades of grey.