Written StudiosWhat We Heard
He sat next to me
and did not say a word.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
And somehow—
we understood.
For thirty minutes
on that bus,
the silence between us
whispered,
“I hear you.”
And I did.
Between our shoulders,
a small, careful distance—
not quite apart,
not quite touching.
I heard the weight
of his long days,
the quiet ache
of endless toil.
I heard the need
for a warm bath,
a hearty meal,
a place
to rest.
And in that same silence,
he heard me too—
all the things
I did not know
how to say.
Two strangers,
held in that space,
speaking fluently
in something
neither of us
had to explain.
—
