When Your Silence Filled The Room
It was in the hollow pause after your sentence,
when the air thickened, and the world waited.
No flutter of apology, no hurried explanation.
Only the gentle throb of meaning, suspended between us.
A clock ticked somewhere behind the wall,
measuring the stretch of nothing that grew vast.
An unspoken truth swirling in the quiet,
heavier than any phrase you could muster.
I watched your hands, still and uncertain,
your gaze lost in a window’s grey reflection.
In that hush, I learned the shape of your regret,
a confession carried by the echo of withheld words.
There was kindness in the silence too,
a gentle mercy that language could not bear.
The calm between storms, a peace we did not name,
where forgiveness lingered, fragile and unclaimed.
Later, when voices returned,
their syllables felt clumsy, rough, inadequate.
For I had already heard everything
in the moment when your silence filled the room.
when the air thickened, and the world waited.
No flutter of apology, no hurried explanation.
Only the gentle throb of meaning, suspended between us.
A clock ticked somewhere behind the wall,
measuring the stretch of nothing that grew vast.
An unspoken truth swirling in the quiet,
heavier than any phrase you could muster.
I watched your hands, still and uncertain,
your gaze lost in a window’s grey reflection.
In that hush, I learned the shape of your regret,
a confession carried by the echo of withheld words.
There was kindness in the silence too,
a gentle mercy that language could not bear.
The calm between storms, a peace we did not name,
where forgiveness lingered, fragile and unclaimed.
Later, when voices returned,
their syllables felt clumsy, rough, inadequate.
For I had already heard everything
in the moment when your silence filled the room.
David Harker lives in Whitland, South West Wales, with Helena his gorgeous wife. He has been writing poetry and flash fiction since 2012, and love the way the written word can evoke feelings and emotions.
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