The Wandering-Mind

By

I said hello. 
You said nothing. 
But your silence screamed louder than any word I’ve ever heard. 
So I asked myself— 
What else could it mean?

Maybe your state was storm. 
Maybe your heart was a battlefield dressed in civilian clothes. 
Maybe your silence wasn’t rejection, 
but a retreat. 
A pause. 
A prayer.

I could take it personal. 
I could armor up. 
I could call it disrespect and fire back with cold steel words. 
But what if— 
just what if— 
your silence was a wound 
and mine could be a balm?

Because communication isn’t just sound. 
It’s state. 
It’s soul. 
It’s the trembling hand behind the gesture, 
the breath before the breakdown.

So I ask again— 
What else could it mean? 
When you lash out, 
is it anger? 
Or is it grief dressed in rage’s clothing? 
Is it fear with a louder voice?

I could give it anger. 
I could give it distance. 
Or I could give it love. 
And the meaning I assign 
becomes the map we walk.

Whatever we focus on, we feel. 
So I choose to feel the ache behind your words. 
I choose to hear the echo of your pain 
and respond with presence.

Because the quality of life 
is the quality of our communication— 
with others, 
with ourselves, 
with the silence between.

So I’ll keep asking, 
not to decode you, 
but to honor you:

What else could it mean?