Deadly silence

All the words unsaid spilled into the Slough. Not all of them unsaid by me. Things unsaid to avoid harm – unsaid to skirt around the impossible choice: which love to betray, which to taint with betrayal of the other. They lie all around, like rainwater caught in buckets. The roof leaks and more words drip in. They spill easily, and I slip on the pools of them, all too often.

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