The Space Between

The space between your words holds its breath like morning fog gathering names for things you cannot yet speak aloud.

I learn your silences— how they stretch like pulled taffy, how they settle in the corners of your mouth before you choose a different sentence.

Some conversations are cathedrals built from what's left unsaid, echoing with almost-truths, arched ceilings of restraint where sound dissolves to meaning.

You turn away from my question and in that turning, I understand that language is only the skin of what we're trying to touch— the space before the word is everything.