Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

The wind whistles, just like the last time you left by train.
Silence masked, volume cranked to I-can’t-think levels,
but its better this way. Calm face, but your twitching leg
gives the tension away. I don’t think you ever returned.

So we stare out of respective windows.
Empty minds can’t harbor the hurt we seek to hide.
White knuckles clench the door handle, seeking escape,
but that's one jump I’m not quite willing to take.
So here I linger, shivering from the coldness you radiate.
/n the cold, we always stand alone.

The music screams, but this silence won’t be shattered.
We’re inches apart but world’s away,
your lips firmly shut, for what’s left to say?

(As if the silence didn't say enough.)