Things Unsaid
Window pane taps with rain, slow and thin,
Potted ivy drips, leaves saggin’ where you’d been.
Old teacup on the sill, half-full, gone cold,
Your blue shirt still hangs on the line—sleeves loose, uncontrolled.
Laundry basket’s half-empty, socks paired wrong,
Just like the day you left, when everything felt gone.
Rain hums the song you used to play,
On that guitar with the cracked neck, yesterday.
I reach for the chord you taught me, fingers stall,
Left hand remembers, right hand feels small.
Oh, things unsaid—just the quiet in the room,
The teacup’s chip, the shirt’s lone bloom.
Things unsaid—like the sock without its mate,
Like the rain that falls but can’t relate
To the hole in the wall where your photo hung,
Or the way I still set a plate for one.
These are the things I keep, in the heart’s deep well,
Unspoken, unseen, but they ring like a bell.
Flipped through the album, page 23,
Your laugh in the corner, sun on your knee.
Radio plays that song we drove to once,
You sang off-key, I laughed till I once
Forgot the gas light blinking red ahead,
Now the tune sticks, but the road’s just dead.
Rain taps the glass, a rhythm I know,
Like your breath when you slept, soft and slow.
I count the drops, one for each day,
Since you packed that bag, walked away.
Oh, things unsaid—just the quiet in the room,
The teacup’s chip, the shirt’s lone bloom.
Things unsaid—like the sock without its mate,
Like the rain that falls but can’t relate
To the hole in the wall where your photo hung,
Or the way I still set a plate for one.
These are the things I keep, in the heart’s deep well,
Unspoken, unseen, but they ring like a bell.
Midnight, rain stops. Silence so thick,
I hear the fridge hum, the clock’s weak tick.
Went to bed, but the pillow’s too wide,
Your side’s still empty, like the day you died?
No, not died—just left. But the ache’s the same,
A quiet ghost in the house, calling my name.
Oh, things unsaid—just the quiet in the room,
The teacup’s chip, the shirt’s lone bloom.
Things unsaid—like the sock without its mate,
Like the rain that falls but can’t relate
To the hole in the wall where your photo hung,
Or the way I still set a plate for one.
These are the things I keep, in the heart’s deep well,
Unspoken, unseen, but they ring like a bell.