It’s hard to find the right words sometimes,
to let them slip out clean without getting tangled.
I hold them back,
afraid they’ll land too heavy or not enough,
afraid they’ll twist into something I didn’t mean.
Telling people things.. it’s like walking a tightrope.
One wrong step and suddenly,
what I meant to say is lost,
and what’s left is confusion,
a silence I didn’t want to create.
I don’t want to upset,
don’t want to stir the calm waters
or light a match I can’t put out.
And then there’s the other side—
not wanting to excite,
to promise more than I can give,
to let hope rise when maybe it shouldn’t.
So I sit with my words,
turn them over like stones in my hands,
polish them until they’re smooth,
but somehow still too heavy to let go.
I don’t want to misconstrue,
to leave anyone wondering what I meant,
but when I hold back,
what’s left is the quiet,
the space where truth should be
but never is.
Maybe that’s the hardest part—
not what to say,
but how to say it without changing everything.
How to tell someone what’s inside,
without tipping the balance
we’ve worked so hard to keep.
So I keep my words small, careful,
like maybe if I say too much,
it’ll all break open.
And I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.
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