The space between the words.

Hey baby…

You know, sometimes when we walk, the conversation sorta drifts to a stop… and anytime it happens, I always wonder… do you worry about it? I do… just a little.

But here's the thing…

I don't mind the quiet. Not with you.

Not even a bit.

As long as you're next to me, whether we're gabbing away or not… I'm content. Seriously. You could sit beside me for hours, never say a word, and I'd still go to bed feeling like I got everything I needed.

Still, though…

I know that quiet isn't always empty. Sometimes it's oh, so full. Full of all the things we want to say. All the things we feel pressing right up against an invisible line we're still toeing. And god, baby… I feel them, too.

There's always so much more I wanna say. So much I wanna ask. So much I wanna tell you. But it stays locked away behind that velvet rope, like I know yours does, too.

We hold it. For good reason, I know… but that doesn't make it easy.

Still… even that quiet feels like ours. A kind of sacred hush. A knowing pause. The space between the words we aren't saying — not yet…

But I see you, baby. I feel you in the quiet. Every time.

And someday? When that rope's lying on the ground behind us?

I can’t wait to hear every last thing.

Yours.