In Waiting Rooms of Silence

I told you once, or maybe twice,
my words fell hard, cold as ice.
In that moment, I felt the tremor,
felt the ground shift, love’s dim ember.

What sparked once bright now barely glows—
I see it dim, yet no one knows.
You sit with questions unsaid, unshown,
I wait for words I cannot own.

It’s fear that rises, sticks and stays,
like shadows cast on winter days.
My heart’s inclined to reach and run,
to hold, to hide, the knot’s undone.

Your silence grows like walls I climb,
and in your distance, I’m frozen, confined.
I long for you, though guarded and shy—
yet every inch I take, you seem to pry.

Did I rush? Was I too bold?
I ache for answers left untold.
Can’t face the doubt etched in your gaze,
but I feel it burn, a smoldering blaze.

I want to tell you, lay it bare—
this need, this fear I cannot wear.
To show my flaws, to let you in,
yet dread the questions held within.

So here I sit in waiting rooms
of unasked questions, unlit blooms,
hoping one day we both unseal
the parts we keep and cannot feel.

And if you choose to take my hand,
we’ll wade through dark, rebuild the land—
two souls, untangling webs of fright,
if you can bear my trembling light.