And then there are times
when my grief is silently hiding,
stealing my voice,
slipping into the pauses
between breath and word.
It curls into shadows,
not loud, not raging,
but heavy—
a quiet thief of sound,
a silencer of songs.
My lips part
but the weight presses down,
the unspoken stays unspoken,
and all I can do
is let my eyes
carry what my mouth cannot.
Yet even here,
in the hush of sorrow’s grip,
my silence still speaks—
of love too deep to vanish,
of memories too sacred to name,
of absence that lingers
like a ghost in the throat.
