All the things we could have said and done,
were best left untouched.
Because the very idea of it left us hungry and full.
A bag of pregnant pauses, muted hesitations,
stolen salient dreams and shadowy figures
that could have leapt into the air out of a whisper of chance
but didn’t.
And as it was, as it was, it was beautiful.

Like the words that bounced back and forth between my parents- short, tight and snappy. I tried to catch them. They were spat out with disgust through clenched teeth and whacked about like tennis balls, and all you could hear was an insanely quick rhythmic beat, so much so that when they stopped speaking altogether, the breathless tempo collapsed instantly. And there was silence. And the silence became a stark urgent scream.

All the thoughts, intentions and numerous possibilities jutting out were deliberately withheld and left hanging. But you could feel it. You could hear it. And as it was, in a strange way, it was beautiful.

We speak in riddles because we are too afraid. They say the truth will set you free, but everybody knows the truth can also crush you. We want the truth to slip out like a harmless little accident. We want to sound careless, nonchalant, and unaffected. We want the veil torn and the glass walls shattered but we just don't want to be the one to do it. Maybe one day, we will.