The Silence Between Us

We used to speak with eyes, not words. Laughter echoed in spaces where language was too small to hold what we felt. But now, the silence between us is heavier than sound. It sits at the table, invisible, but always between our hands. You ask, “How was your day?” I say, “Fine.” But I mean— I missed you. I remembered when you used to care. When your voice felt like home, and not a stranger’s tone. We sleep on the same bed, but dream on different planets. The distance between your shoulder and mine feels like a thousand years. What happened to the fire we swore would never go out? Was it the rain? Or did we let the match burn out in our hands? Whatever it is, this silence is louder than screaming. And I don't know how to fix what we won’t even name.