Fill in the Blank

It is what is said in the silence
A paradox of meaning
Interpretation abuses overthought
Saying nothing
is saying everything

Forces you to read between the gaps
Between the lines
Looking for other signs of sensory evidence to reduce the suspense that lingers after uncertainty
All that what you see or seem
Is almost never what it is
exactly,

That’s why a cold shoulder hurts more than the frostiest winds
Is it spite or anger?
Is it fury or contempt?
Wondering forever
Forever suspecting
What that glare or stare
Actually meant

That’s why a loving look
Can border on romantic
For not even Descartes could tell you how to distinguish loves
particularly dramatic
Is this a gaze of desire,
Or compassion?
Passion?
Or empathy?
Sympathy?
Please,
Just, look at me,
Secretly thinking
Yet walk away

Me,
still looking
I’m hooked on something.
Perhaps you’re lovely
I’ll make you lovely.

Ultimately,
How do
I
see silence?

Pregnant with bursting potential…
Waiting
To be
Defined.

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