Missing Pages
We don’t fight.
We don’t raise our voices or slam doors.
We just… exist beside each other now.
The silence isn’t peaceful anymore.
It’s full of all the things we don’t say.
Small complaints tucked under our tongues.
“Why didn’t you notice?”
“Why do you act like that?”
Questions that never make it past our teeth.
I don’t trust the way I used to.
Not with a storm —
but with a slow leak.
The kind that drains you
without you realizing the tank is empty.
In the beginning, his name felt like home.
Now it feels like a room I’m careful in.
I still love him.
I just don’t feel _held_ the same way.
We’re not broken.
We’re just unresolved.
Two people reading different drafts
of the same story,
pretending the missing pages don’t matter..
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