My breath is caught.
There's a reason they call it a rib cage.

Your shadow shouldn’t stop you from basking in the sun.

Awkward astronomer-lover.
Your nebulae concept:
The universe drawing together,
A delighted animation.
We ruefully laughed onshore,
That profound abstruse oxygen.
Their unappetizing myopia,
Misguided eye sockets.

I have a tendency to remain quiet in a crowd and simply observe those around me. Because it takes someone who is completely silent to actually listen. Because silence is louder than words. Because there are things that the body betrays that the mind refuses to tell. There are things that don't need words. Even now I can hear it all around me; the nervous hands, the tired eyes, the rigid posture that tells me we are not yet known to each other. There is so much going on around us that it gets exhausting. While many see a silent room, I see a conversation with waves upon waves of emotions. Pictures drawn from unspoken metaphors that describe the view from everyone's mental heights. There are no lies in silence. There is no omission in body language. You are an open book, a window pane, a clear crystal. Your silence is all there is to know.

When you speak, the listener understands you. When you write, the reader understands themselves.

I’m staring at cars going to the horizon.
Thumb out by the road I walk beside them.
Some are too kind and give me a ride.
                                       But I’m a passenger. Their journey’s not mine.
                                       They head to their goal with no hint of doubt.
                                       Soon they will stop and I must get out
They leave me behind, I’ve no car of my own.
I look for headlights to bring me along.
I beg for rides just to get farther.
                                       My journey is long and it just gets harder.
                                       I steal each mile and climb even higher.
                                       Keep moving. I am life’s hitchhiker.

The most painful lies are the ones we tell ourselves.

I turned to him and asked "why?" As the record droned on in the background. He opened his eyes and smiled as the tapping of his feet slowed.

"In our final moments there is silence. I fear that final silence." The song began to reach its crescendo and he held out his hands as if he were embracing every note. "So let there always be music."