The Things I Never Said

Prose based on lyrics from the Left Unsaid - Writing Soundtrack Playlist

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The Things I Never Said

There are nights when silence feels heavier than any argument ever did. Tonight is one of them.

I sit on the edge of the bed with my elbows on my knees and breathe in the quiet as if it might finally tell me the truth. It never does. It only echoes back the things I did not say, the things I tried to say, the things I said too late, the things I said wrong, and the things I said instead.

I used to think love was about holding on. Now I am wondering if it is about learning when to speak before the moment slips away.

You once told me you loved as fiercely as you did because someone taught you to. I did not understand it then. I thought love was instinct rather than inheritance. Now I see how much of you was shaped by the people who came before me, the ones who taught you to brace for impact, to whisper instead of shout, to apologize before you even knew what you had done wrong.

And I see how much of me was shaped by silence.

I spent years biting my tongue because I feared that one wrong word would unravel everything. I feared that if I said what I really felt, you would hear it as an accusation instead of a confession. I feared that honesty would cost me the one thing I wanted to hold on to. So I swallowed the truth until it sat like a stone in my chest.

You asked me once why I never said what I meant the first time. I did not know how to tell you that my words always felt too sharp or too clumsy or too likely to break something fragile between us. So I softened them and trimmed them and hid them. In doing so, I hid myself.

You stayed longer than you should have. I know that now. You stayed even after you figured out the parts of me I tried to keep tucked away. You stayed when my fear made me quiet and when my quiet made you doubt and when my doubt made you feel alone. You stayed until staying hurt more than leaving.

I did not understand that either.

There were moments that felt small and ordinary when I could feel your heartbeat through your shirt and the world felt simple. Lying beside you made everything else fade. In those moments I wanted to say the words that hovered on the back of my tongue. Do not go. Stay. I am trying. I am scared. I love you. I do not know how to love you well, but I am trying to learn.

The words never came out right. They tripped over themselves and tangled in fear and dissolved before they reached the air. I told myself you already knew. I told myself you did not need to hear it. I told myself I would say it tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and went.

Now I replay everything in my mind. I replay the looks on your face that I did not understand at the time. I replay the questions you asked that I answered too carefully. I replay the moments when you needed me to speak, and I stayed quiet. I did not realize how much you were listening to the things I was not saying.

I did not realize how much silence can wound.

There were nights when you reached for me, and I froze. It was never because I did not want you. It was because I did not know how to let myself be seen. You saw past my excuses anyway. You always did. You saw the lies I told myself, the ones I wrapped in logic and caution. You saw the fear I tried to hide. You saw the cracks I pretended were not there.

And still, you stayed.

Until you could not.

Now I am left with the pieces. These scattered parts of who I was with you are the parts I am trying to gather and the parts I am afraid to look at too closely. I am learning to breathe again, slowly and unevenly. I am learning to listen to the quiet without letting it swallow me. I am learning that regret is its own kind of teacher.

I wonder if I cross your mind. I wonder if you replay the same moments I do. I wonder if you ever think about the words you did not say or if you only think about the ones I did not.

I miss the little things. I miss the way you tilted your head when you were trying not to laugh. I miss the circles you traced on my arm when you were thinking. I miss the way you said my name like it meant something. I did not realize how much those things mattered until they were gone.

Maybe this chapter of my life is about learning to speak before the moment passes. Maybe it is about learning to love without hiding. Maybe it is about letting the truth be messy and imperfect and real.

Maybe it is about learning that silence is not safety. Silence is a slow unraveling.

I do not know if I will ever get the chance to say these things to you. I do not know if you would want to hear them. I do not know if it would matter.

But I know this.

If tomorrow never comes, I do not want to leave anything unsaid again.

Not with you.
Not with anyone.
Not with myself.

So tonight, in the quiet, I practice the words I never said.

I am sorry.
I was afraid.
I loved you more than I knew how to show.
I am learning.
I am trying.
I am still here, even if you cannot hear my voice.

And for now, that is enough.