You never raised your voice. I still heard everything. You had a way of saying nothing That said more than any word could hold. A pause become a kind of language, Louder for the things it never told. I used to fill the quiet in With guesses dressed as certainty. But every silence had a meaning I was too loud to see. The less you said, the more I heard — A grammar built from empty space. Silence isn’t absence, It’s a language of its own. Every pause a sentence, Every glance postponed. You spoke in what you kept, I answered what I lost. We had a whole conversation Neither one of us said out loud. There’s a dialect in how you leave a room, An accent in the things you choose to hide. I learned to read the spaces Where your honesty would hide. Some truths don’t need a voice to travel, They move through what’s withheld, not shown. And I got fluent in your quiet Long before I knew your tone. Not everything unsaid Is something hidden. Some things Just don’t survive translation. Silence isn’t absence, It’s the truth we couldn’t spend. Every pause a letter We never learned to send. You spoke in what you kept, I’m fluent in it now. We had a whole conversation Written in the sound of silence itself. Say nothing. I’ll understand.
