There are whispers we keep in the fold of our chest,
Not loud, not proud — just quietly dressed.
They live in the corners of glances and sighs,
In the hush between hellos and long goodbyes.
They echo in rooms that no one can see,
Where memory lingers like salt in the sea.
They’re stitched into letters we never sent,
Tales of love, or what it meant.
They’re promises broken but never betrayed,
Just softened by time, quietly laid
Like petals beneath a cold winter snow,
Still, breathing the warmth of long ago.
Whispers we keep are not meant for the crowd,
They speak in the stillness, never aloud.
But in those moments we feel most alone,
They rise from the hush and call us home.
So listen, my love, when the silence runs deep—
You’ll hear in the quiet, the whispers we keep.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and light,
Brenda Marie
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