Small Things I Never Say

It has been a long time
since I traced the shape of your face
in the quiet of my own mind,
yet it returns to me
the way soft light returns to a room
before dawn is fully awake.

I walk through the places you touched,
your kitchen chair,
the doorway you lean against
when you are thinking,
your couch where I once fell asleep
with your blanket pulled to my chin.
The memory still feels safe,
gentle,
like the world paused
just to let me breathe.

I listen to the way you move through life,
the low hum of your guitar strings,
the way your fingers coax sound
out of silver and tension.
I watch you with small, ordinary awe
when you crochet something simple,
your hands steady,
your mind somewhere soft.
I never know how to say
how proud I feel,
how much those moments bloom inside me.

There are truths that stay caught
behind my teeth
because letting them out
would break something open
that I am not brave enough to hold.
So I keep them quiet,
little folded secrets
tucked in the lining of my heart.

I stay for a moment,
never too long,
never long enough.
I leave before the words try to rise,
before the light shifts
and you notice the way I look at you.

Still, you are the warmth
I needed without knowing it,
the soft place I fall toward
even when I pretend I am fine.
I think of you with a tenderness
that feels almost foolish,
almost too gentle for this world.

Some feelings do not fit in sentences,
not when spoken,
not when asked for.
Some feelings are small
and perfect
and impossible to explain.

Words fail.
But the quiet does not.

Onnaya