Silence in her eyes: Pistanthrophobia

I have betrayed your trust.
You know.
Yet you say nothing.
The silence in your eyes says it all.
They’re always so animate.
Not today.
They’re blank, shielded, silent.
Do you remember, I told you…
That I hate silence?
It leaves so much unspoken.
It leaves such heavy dents.
Even though…
It weighs nothing.
But its nothingness weighs a lot.
It cuts. It strikes. It burns.
It is cold. Icy.

Remember the years we spent so close?
That was comfortable.
Our silences were warm.
They spoke.
They left nothing unsaid.
They were light. And liquid.
I loved them. They were cosy.
They exuded sincerity.
Animate silences. Expressive silences.

But I’ve betrayed your trust.
And this silence hangs between us.
It is cold, and it slaps me in the face.
It seeps into my veins.
It reminds me of what I did.
It rebukes me.
It lets me punish myself.
It speaks. Of betrayal. Of lies, of secrecy.
Of things left unsaid.
Of broken promises.
Our shattered trust.
Of blackened tar and burnt coal.
Of stained hands and glassy eyes.
Of smeared dirt and crushed diamonds.
Of torn clothes and broken needles.

It speaks. It is silent.
It speaks. It is trust.
It speaks. It is betrayal.
It speaks. It is sin.
It speaks. It is black.

Your eyes are silent.