Easier Left Unsaid

I keep my words behind my teeth,

locked away where they can’t shake the fragile peace between us.

Because I know the truth,

you don’t really want to hear them.

Not the heavy parts.

Not the aching pieces of me that reach for understanding

and come back empty-handed.

You listen the way rain taps against closed windows:

present, but never truly entering.

You pretend it matters because you think it should,

because silence is easier to soften than honesty.

So I swallow every confession whole,

feeling them settle like stones in my chest,

each one too dangerous to let loose.

Because if I spoke plainly,

if I unraveled every thought I keep stitched shut,

I know it would split something open between us.

A crack in the moment.

A fracture in the laughter.

The kind of break that leaves two people

standing on opposite sides of what used to feel safe.

So instead, I protect the temporary.

I cradle every fleeting second with you

like holding water in shaking hands,

trying not to spill it,

trying not to ruin the little warmth I’m given.

But moments end.

They always do.

And when the silence returns,

I’m left alone with all the things I never said,

tearing through me louder than words ever could.