Things We Don’t Say Out Loud
The world looks fine from far away.
People still drink coffee,
answer emails,
wait for the light to turn green.
From a distance,
nothing seems broken.
But somewhere,
a person packs their life into one bag
and tells themselves
they’ll come back soon.
Somewhere else,
a room stays quiet,
holding the shape of someone
who is not coming back.
I loved you in small ways.
No poems sent.
No dramatic exits.
Just checking my phone
a little too often.
Just keeping your name
longer than I should have.
The news talks in numbers.
I think in faces.
Maybe that’s why it hurts—
numbers don’t cry,
but people do.
The earth doesn’t beg us to listen.
It just changes slowly:
hotter summers,
rivers running low,
birds that stop returning.
Like someone who gave up explaining
and chose silence instead.
Maybe love is like that.
Not unanswered.
Just ignored
until it becomes quiet.