There is a fragile peace in the unspoken. We settle for the safety of "almost" because the risk of "everything" feels too heavy to carry. To speak the truth is to break the spell; it is to trade the comfort of passing each other on the street for the possibility of a permanent, awkward silence. We choose the longing because we know how to survive it, but we aren't sure if we could survive the loss of the small connection we still have left.

The Price of the Unspoken

I stare at the full moon with a heart full of longing,

Whispering a wish that my mind fears to face.

I miss you in the heavy weight of the silence,

Loving you through a mist of uncertainty.

I saw you walk past me on a crowded street,

And the world froze with the hope that you would, too.

When our eyes met, oh, how I wished we were connected,

By a red thread on our pinkies—our written destiny.

I want to shout what my heart feels inside,

But my mind keeps me mute, stopping me in my tracks.

What if I speak, and both our hearts break again?

What if the air turns cold and the comfort turns strange?

So, shh... let it stay like this, kept as a secret,

At least I can see you walk past me every day.

I can be the one to fight the war by your side,

While I am already occupied with a war of my own.

I will not add a single ounce to your burden,

Nor risk the bridge we’ve built, however small.

I will let you be you—for that is what melts my pain.

The fear of awkwardness is often just a fear of losing the person entirely. If I stay silent, I get to keep you in my world, even if only as a ghost on the sidewalk. I would rather endure the ache of "what if" than the finality of "no more." I choose this silence to protect both of us from the shards of a broken confession, finding a bittersweet solace in the fact that, for now, we still share the same street.