Small

Words that go unanswered

I have learned

to keep my voice small around you.

Not because I have nothing to say,

but because it never seems to land.

My words reach for you

and fall short,

like rain that never

touches the ground.

I used to try harder.

I used to explain myself

until my sentences

felt thin from use.

Now I hold things back.

Not in anger.

Just in understanding.

There is a particular loneliness

in loving someone

who does not turn

when you call their name.

I watch you move through your hungers,

through your brightness,

through whatever pulls you harder

than I ever could.

And so I swallow the softer things.

The almost confessions.

The careful hopes.

You do not ask for them.

You do not notice their absence.

So I carry them myself,

like unopened letters

I stopped trying to send.

Sometimes I wonder

what it would feel like

to be heard

without raising my voice.

But the room stays the same.

And I grow quieter inside it.