I Left A Note Under Your Pillow

The Weight of Silence

Perhaps you’ll never understand 
the frequency of your presence in my mind— 
how it hums beneath every thought, 
like a song I can't quite hear, but I feel it. 
We exist in parallel worlds, 
divided by a transparent veil. 
Our eyes meet, 
but the depths of our emotions remain untold. 

You've never been invited into the conversations I have with myself, 
the whispered confessions I never say out loud, 
the laughter that echoes when I'm alone, 
the smiles that bloom in the secrecy of my heart. 

Maybe you've caught glimpses, 
those fleeting moments where the connection sparks, 
but never enough to see how your presence threads itself to my joy, 
how your name, when it lights up my phone, 
fills me with this intoxicating rush, 
like I've been transported to another place, 
another time, 
a world of our own. 

But you won’t know the quiet terror that grips me, 
the fear that pulses beneath every conversation, 
the fear of becoming too used to this rhythm, 
too familiar with the cadence of our words, 
too willing to surrender to the uncertainty 
of what we might be— 
or might never be. 

Here I am, 
stuck in this space between silence and sound, 
wondering if you'll ever truly see me— 
if you'll ever feel the weight of what I carry when you’re not looking.

I’m standing on this thin line, 
caught between hope and hesitation, 
trying to understand this unspoken connection 
that hangs between us like an invisible thread. 
It pulls, it tugs, 
but you don't know the weight of it on my chest. 
You don’t know the battle that rages inside me, 
the one where I question if you’ll ever see me 
in the way I’ve come to see you. 

There’s a fire that burns, 
hidden in the quiet moments when our words fall short, 
when our eyes meet, 
and yet, we stay silent, 
unsure of what comes next. 
I wonder if you feel it too— 
the tension, the electricity, 
or if it’s just me, 
lost in the echoes of my own heart. 

But you’ll never know, 
because I won’t say it. 
I won’t speak the words that might change everything. 
Instead, I’ll let the silence speak for me, 
let it linger, 
let it stretch, 
until we’re both consumed by what’s unsaid. 

I’ll live in this space, 
this in-between place, 
where your absence feels like a presence, 
and your presence feels like a ghost. 
And maybe, just maybe, 
I’ll learn to love the mystery, 
the untold stories that only I know. 
But I’ll never stop wondering— 
will you ever see me? 
Will you ever feel the weight of what we are, 
or what we could be?