The Silence Between Us

We used to speak
with eyes,
not words.

Laughter echoed
in spaces
where language
was too small
to hold
what we felt.

But now,
the silence
between us
is heavier
than sound.

It sits
at the table,
invisible,
but always
between
our hands.

You ask,
“How was your day?”
I say,
“Fine.”

But I mean—
I missed you.
I remembered
when you used
to care.
When your voice
felt like home,
and not
a stranger’s tone.

We sleep
on the same bed,
but dream
on different planets.

The distance
between
your shoulder
and mine
feels like
a thousand years.

What happened
to the fire
we swore
would never go out?

Was it the rain?
Or did we
let the match
burn out
in our hands?

Whatever it is,
this silence
is louder
than screaming.

And I don't know
how to fix
what we won’t
even name.