The silence isn't empty, it's just… full of everything unsaid. the words i chew on instead of speaking. like my teeth are a graveyard for conversations never had. what grows in graveyards anyway? weeds. bitterness. is that what i'm cultivating here, in this quiet space between her breaths and mine? new leaf on the rose bush, i saw that, but… what about the weeds? do i just let them choke everything else?