Between Silences
Between silences
the world comes to an end
and there is no commotion
no tempest brewing in the sea
no notice
and people remain people
as the wind stands still
crying themselves to sleep
breaking marriages
being wed
breathing
dancing
laughing
binding ourselves to the menial vocabulary
of the living
promising love
flirting
lying
and no note is made of this
no map left behind
to navigate the aching void left
when the noise stops
no hidden trails to mark
the pathways of apologies
and second chances
nothing
but the stinging echo of quiet
and the bitter aftertaste of “I love you’s”
that you should have said but didn’t
and as the world ends
we watch, mournful observers
to our self-inflicted wounds
squirming in our guilt
because we said the things we wanted to
but never the things we meant
so here… now
I confess to you
that we used to say so much
but never enough
between silences
© Nathalie M. Viorato
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