It starts in the quiet
a quiver at the end of a smile,
eyes that darken after a goodbye,
a hand that lingers,
a breath too long,
knuckles whitening.
The words left unsaid pollute the air
like mist on glass,
soft but blurred,
your eyes trace the shape of the empty.
As if absence could leave fingerprints.
we notice the space
the in between
where our faces expose
what mouths won’t admit
grief dressed as grace,
longing to be held,
limited by the fear
of someone noticing.
The pain written
in sideway glances
whether you’d like to admit it or not,
each gesture a confession.
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