Silence Ruins Me

People think
silence is empty.

It isn’t.

Silence is busy.

It builds stories.

It invents endings.

It fills rooms
with conversations
that never happened.

It asks questions

no one
is there
to answer.

Yes

silence ruins me.

Not because
I need constant words.

I love quiet.

I love mornings
before the world
wakes up.

I love evenings
when the sky
can’t decide
whether it’s blue
or black.

I love the sound
of water
doing nothing
but falling.

What ruins me

is the silence

that arrives

where honesty
should have been.

The silence

that asks me

to imagine

instead of know.

Maybe that’s why

I argue
with inanimate objects.

My phone
at least
has the decency

to remind me
it’s bedtime.

Even the moon

half-hidden
behind branches

still lets me know

it’s there.

It’s only people

who disappear

while leaving

everything

unsaid.

Yes.

Silence ruins me.

Not because
it is quiet.

Because it is loud enough

to make me hear

every fear

I was trying

not to believe.