The silence tangled in words.
From the good mornings to the good nights
You’re almost aware of every breath I take
As if walking beside me every moment
As if my story is less mine, and more yours
But then, do you really know me?
Do you listen to the silence lying in between?
How sometimes “okay” implies, “you hurt me a bit, but I’ll manage”?
And how some questions are skipped as if they never existed?
Do knowing and understanding really walk hand in hand?
Or does it take a bit more than that?
How sometimes, I look at your smile
And want to tell you a million words on how it is “the perfect attire”
Or how holding your hand gives me a tingling, I never felt before?
Maybe, just maybe my silence has more to offer than my words!
After all, haven’t I chosen the wrong set of words, every damn time?
