On Your Silence

On your silence
That spilled though the afternoon
Of a rather idyllic day.

I have almost forgotten you,
A stab to my conscience,
For your words prove the opposite
On your end of the line.

I have almost left you,
A stab to my heart,
Knowing you once did,
And never will again.

I have almost lost you,
A stab to my name,
Remembering I shouldn’t,
I wouldn’t.

I almost called you,
Sent you a note,
Telling you,
I remember.

I almost called you,
Wrote you a letter,
Telling you,

That in this,
You only seek to be hurt,
You only seek to witness
What you wish could be you,
The bittersweet reminder,
That it will never be.

That in this,
You only seek to speak,
Through hidden letters
I know where you keep.
You only seek to know,
Through subtle hints and words,
What I decide to show.

And is this what you want?
An exchange of words,
Of lines,
Of pleas thrown into the air,
Hoping, knowing
The other would catch wind,
And know it is meant for,
From whom, to whom.

Is this what you want?
An eternal Limbo
You can never tell a soul
Without revealing yours.
A silent game
Of waiting,
Of patience,
Of time,
With no clear hints
Of who’s winning, and who’s not.
Though the answer is clear–
I need not to tell you.

So I’d ask you again,
Is this what you want?

And so, perhaps, I too must wait.



Locked in ink.
On paper.

Locked in words.
In whispers,
And songs.

Locked in lips.
In lips locked.
And eyes,

Locked in melodies,
And breaths.

Locked in hearts.
In hands clasped,