I used to believe that there's nothing as jarring as the noise of a smothered weep or the silence that follows it

 Perhaps the silence

scattered in our minds, stuffed in our stories,

layering our reality, 

sneakily growing on the pretext for peace

is lost on us. 

It remains forgotten until we're arrested by it.

Sometimes, in the happiest, warmest, truest moments, 

in the company of those we love dearly

It transforms into an unspeakable grief.

Now, this is why I stress on love:

It acquaints us with the truths

we thought we'd never get to know

but have known all the while.

That one fine evening

when my silence arrested me,

It was your tenderness that made me utter-

"I should've said it long ago, but I didn't know what to say."

The grief didn't remain unspeakable, after all.

I held your hand.