I am translating your silence. Your absence of presence makes me doubt your intentions, the extra emotions that you forgot to mention. Waiting on me as I waited on you. I'm unable to interpret your silence, only mine.
My silence is a protection and armor from disappointment and a detachment from pleasure and pain. A Buddhist practice. My silence is holding back, it is fearful and thoughtful, yet expectant because it believes in positive interactions, yet my silence is laced with cynicism. It is witty and blunt and difficult to stomach, even if you know what to expect.
It doesn't taste right to me, it is truthful or is it truthful? It is realistic, but secretly hopeful.
My silence is not a symptom of lack of thought. It hasn't expressed the moments you've entered my dreams, it hasn't expressed the feelings beyond my guard let down. It hasn't told you that sitting at a four-sided table only occupied by three - you were the one I thought of. It hasn't told you what I want.
My silence is the tip of the smile, an iceberg below of thoughts and emotions, not yet expressed. My silence is waiting for your silence to break.
