Silence is so inaccurate.
It is the sense of absence
when someone is gone.
It is the ellipsis at the end of the story…
It is not the comma, but the period.
It is the break at the end of the end-stopped line. p>
It fills the spaces between the fingers and toes.
It is the hesitation before you choose:
the interior sigh whenever you lose.
The empty room after the door closes; p>
It is the blank page, the white space.
It is what remains unsaid. p>