You tell me to talk, so I talk.
But it feels like every time I do my words are taken wrong. You assume things about me that aren’t there and dismiss what is.
You shut me out, and I talk more to explain, to make it better. But you don’t hear what I say for what it is. My words only increase your anger and frustration.
The silence, the silence weighs on me. I can feel it like a physical weight. I hate it. It feels like you are yelling at me to silence myself.
So again I talk more, if only to hear myself, to try and comfort my soul when none is found elsewhere. What am I to do or think in these moments?
It feels like your silence in these moments shouts louder then your words ever could. I am not enough. And yet I am to much.
In these moments your silence clearly tells me what your words can’t. Sometimes I despair because of it. But I keep loving you.
Past the ache that’s settled in my bones. Past the stutter in my speech. The quiver in my breath. The tears that fight to fall. I always love you.
Even when you awaken my demons and leave me to their claws…I will keep loving you.