Two strangers met where rivers crossed, Each chasing dreams the other lost, They shared a song beneath the moon, Then drifted off in separate tunes. I saw her once on some old street, Her shadow passed right over me, I almost called, but turned away Some hearts still speak through things we don’t say. There’s a line between the heart and tongue, Too fine to see, too deep to run, We lose our words along the way, Caught inside the things we don’t say. An old man writes, his hands still shake, Regrets laid out in careful shape, He signs his name, then hides the page, Some truths outlive the time they’re made. His daughter finds it years too late, The ink near gone, the edges frayed, The final line still finds a way “I loved you through the things I don’t say.” There’s a line between the heart and tongue, Too fine to see, too deep to run, We lose our words along the way, Caught inside the things we don’t say. A painter smiles through glass and rain, A stranger waves, they share the frame, The light turns green, the moment fades, Just color bleeding into grey. Some faces fade, but linger still, Like porch lights on a distant hill, The moment’s gone, but that’s okay The heart remembers things we don’t say. There’s a line between the heart and tongue, We cross it once, then we come undone, But love still hums in its own way, Through all the things we don’t say. Maybe love was never lost, Just waiting for the right words to stay.
