The Unspoken

There are words I never said,

stacked like unsent letters in the quiet corners of my mind.

I wonder if they would have made a difference,

if the air would have carried them gently,

or if they would have sunk, heavy as regret,

into the marrow of another's silence.

I measure time in unfinished thoughts,

half-felt emotions that linger too long,

like a song I almost remember

but hum out of tune.

Somewhere between what I am

and what I pretend to be,

there is a space—

a breath caught between ribs,

a hesitation before a truth too raw to name.

I press my palm against the window,

watching the world move without me,

its rhythm foreign,

its pace relentless.

And yet—

in the hush of my own reflection,

in the weight of my own stillness,

I find something I had forgotten—

I am here.