Speak Quietly

She swore she’d never tell him the reason she hides. It’s a matter of disposition, she supposed. Tell him there is nothing there. You don’t need to worry, she breathes. It’s nothing; nothing. He steals broken glances of her lies. He sees them in the corners of her mouth, the lines beneath her eyes, the mindless scratching at her thumbs. Forget it. He thinks it’s easier to play thick. He loves her but knows she’ll move past it; these fleeting thoughts of secrets. It’s dark in here for him, too. She’s not the only one covering cracks in the walls they lean against. He also hides things, she knows it. Quick and agitated movements when she walks into a room, noiseless acts of acceptance while she quietly cries herself to sleep. They walk on piles of eggshells as they creep around their love. Each hoping the other will say out loud what they see and suspect. Each knowing the other must say it first. Sitting together they hold hands and smile. Both silently agreeing; some things are better left in darkness.