Let me speak to you
through the silence that thunders like a distant storm at sea,
yet drifts as sweet as a melody born in the heart of night.
It is cold as Antarctica’s unbroken ice beneath the polar light,
and warm as the Sahara’s golden fire that kisses skin with might.
Soft as the first good-morning kiss upon soft, waking skin,
harsh as the stubborn walls you raise to keep the daylight in—
yet even those walls glow with the memory of your gentle hand,
a warmth that lingers like candlelight across a darkened land.
This quiet holds a thousand unspoken truths that ache to be known,
a language of opposites where love and distance both have grown.
Let me speak to you
in the voice that lives inside your chest and never finds the air—
the one that screams without a sound while I stand stranded there.
From this far shore I listen hard, yet only emptiness replies,
and my soul remains unsatisfied beneath these heavy skies.
I watch the slow unravelling of us, thread after precious thread,
losing the shape of who we were and the quiet words unsaid.
Still I feel the ghost of your breath against my neck at dawn,
the soft romance of mornings when your arms were never gone.
I pray this ache will be the final wound the heart can bear,
the last fierce storm that breaks across my sky and leaves it bare.
Do not leave me,
not even for a single day or one more lonely night.
On evenings such as this I am both talkative and deaf to light,
blind yet still searching, alone yet held by the ghost of your embrace.
My heart wanders the distance looking for the outline of your face
and finds only the empty space where you were meant to stand,
a hollow shaped exactly like the comfort of your hand.
I feel abandoned and still loved, a paradox that will not rest,
a soul that keeps on calling even when the answer stays suppressed—
yet in the silence I still taste the sweetness of your name,
a warmth that blooms like roses in the center of the flame.
You are the echo I answer in the dark when hope grows thin,
the paradox that keeps my pulse alive against the quiet din—
present in every absence, near in every faraway mile we cross.
Stay, so silence and voice may finally meet without the loss,
and this long longing may at last find rest inside the quiet of your hand,
where all the thunder, sweetness, ice and fire can gently land.
Let me speak, and let your silence answer back with equal care,
until the distance folds away and we are simply there—
two hearts wrapped in the golden hush of love that never dies,
warm as a shared breath, soft as the light in your eyes.
