Bygones.

One.
I was the person who loved silences. Words ruined things for me.
Just staring at each other and let the breeze play her beautiful song. 
Losing ourselves to the melody of that waterfall by tree hill. Gazing at your perfection without blinking for once. 
Making love to you and hear the sounds of the liquids strike some different chords in both of us. Sitting in the coffee shop and sipping our cappuccinos without sharing words. 
Silences. They made me feel at ease.

Two.
But you weren't the silent types. You needed words.
To tell you how utterly beautiful your face looked when the sunlight fell on it. How the daisies must be jealous of you. You needed to be told your worth through syllables- not glances.
You needed sounds- the wild ones while making love. While I preferred silence.

Three.
Somewhere between the gaps between your fingers my silence must still be there. Lingering at the tips with a hundred graveyards of unspoken words. 
With a hundred failed attempts at letting them words flow from the mouth. 
But perhaps you just can't see it. See how my silence often said the most beautiful things one could've said.

Four.
I lay here and breathe. Just breathe. Gazing at the sky in amazement as if it were my mate who'd understand each of my silences like you never did. 
Sometimes I sit by the waterfall and talk to it like I would to you. Through silences. And it gets them all. I wonder why you never did. 
Why you never enjoyed the joy of unspoken words. The pleasure that there was in absolutely nothing.
But you materialised it. All of it. Us. You. Me.

Five.
So I know when you left me I wanted to weep and cry and scream.
I know you thought I didn't feel an inch of your words, but they ripped each of my cells. Every. Single. One.
But like a fool, I chose silence over words. Again. Over again. 
Thinking at the back of my head that just this time around, you'd understand my silences. That the sorrow dripping from my eyes would catch your sight and my you'll feel how my voids were swallowing me- bit by bit.

Six.
Without noticing the voids, the tears, the tearing sound of my skin shed, the melancholies of my soul, you left.

Six. 
I died a little inside. Still not uttering a word. Still wanting my silences to talk.

Six. 
Two years since I sit here with my tub of cookie crumb Ice cream. Eating. Weeping. Silently.

Six.
I know I was a fool. Should've said it. Shouldn't have let you go. Should've destroyed the beauty of my silences. Just for you.

Six.
I'm lost.