The Other Side of Silence

I am learning, slow but sure,
how to face a silence pure,
to stand without your shadow near,
to meet the stillness without fear.

I have turned each stone we knew,
some warm, some wet with faults I drew;
I know their weight, their rooted names,
and keep them lit in memory’s flames.

Yet you are not without your stain,
though proof of it I can’t obtain;
just whispers drifting through the air,
soft rumors vanishing elsewhere.

I never sought to make them true,
I only loved the way I knew—
like water poured through vessels cracked,
and calling music what they lacked.

But now I take the thread away,
the one I placed in you to stay;
I’ll love myself with equal fire,
and guard my peace as I desire.

As you kept walls, so now will I,
to shield my soul and keep it dry;
no longer waiting at your gate,
nor pleading for a change of fate.

From far away, I’ll still hold dear,
a gentler love that draws you near;
not Eros’ flame, but softer care,
that wishes you calm seas everywhere.

And when your name drifts through my mind,
I’ll send a prayer the world is kind;
more kind to you than we could be,
when love was tangled between you and me.