I don’t know what hurts more, your silence or your words. When you speak, every word gets carved in my skin like an eternal tattoo, only to pierce its way to my poor, wounded heart. When you don’t, the quiet speaks for itself. It creeps up my veins and gives me long, icy, convulsive shivers. So I just shudder.
I don’t know when I miss you more, when we speak or when we don’t. When we do, it is just as trying to melt the whole of Antarctica with a single remark. Like a vowel could melt the ices that have somehow managed to encroach between us. Like a sound could keep us company in the long and lonely nights when the hours seem to extend to eternity. When we don’t, the nights are long and lonely anyway. Filled with wonder if the other one is still awake as well. What are you thinking about? Who is on your mind? Do you ever dream of me? Am I missed?
How do you ever leave a person without leaving behind a piece of yourself? When your roots have entangled in such a way you cannot break loose without cutting those entwined the most. It hurts, in all ways possible. Physical pain, emotional torment.
Then there is the inevitable void. Emptiness. It feels like the whole world has gone missing, or has been sucked into that black hole in your chest that empties the life out of you. But it doesn’t empty the hell.