Silence

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We struggled and stammered for words that were left in the open atmosphere. We knew they were there, among the clouds and dandelion stars, lost among the split-pea-soup fog and mist that surrounded our bodies. And we grappled for the words, outstretching our arms high above our heads as if catching butterflies with our fingertips––careful not to touch their fragile wings—and in the process, our hands collided, our fingertips touching together. And we exchanged a quick glance into the eyes: yours were very blue at that moment, I remember it well. They were oddly blue, as if they were smiling. But you looked scared in that split second, as if something dangerous was about to happen. So we turned away from each other—tore away from each other, really, as neither wanted to—and continued attempting to collect those forgotten and lost words stuck in the space between us and above us and below us. And we checked underneath our footprints and through our tousled hair, until we realized that these hidden words would never come out of their hiding places. But that was alright, because the silence said all of the words that our hearts and mouths could never, every say. We knew, through our gaze, exactly how we felt; a thousand sweet-nothings could never be the same.





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