To exist, still

Silence,
not empty,
but full of you.
It slides between words,
waiting,
a shadow stretched too thin.

I hear it
in the way you pause,
a breath too long,
a thought too heavy to speak.
It presses its weight into my chest,
a quiet thread of longing,
pulling me back.

There is power in silence—
not peace,
but the ache of what’s unsaid,
of what I’ll never hold.

Still,
I lean into it every time,
because silence
is where you still exist with me.