What We Could Not Say
Some griefs have no language.
They settle into photographs,
hide between unfinished sentences,
and wait in the quiet places
where love once lived.
They settle into photographs,
hide between unfinished sentences,
and wait in the quiet places
where love once lived.
Still, the heart remembers.
It carries what the voice cannot,
turning absence into memory,
silence into longing,
and certain wounds
into something that almost sings.
turning absence into memory,
silence into longing,
and certain wounds
into something that almost sings.
- unknown
I Am Still Here
The Quiet Sound of Suffering
Some Wounds Learn to Sing
We Endure What Breaks Us
