How do I translate this pain into words?
She cried, her voice trembling like a thread pulled too tight. The question wasn’t rhetorical—it was a plea, a desperate attempt to make sense of the ache that had settled deep within her chest, like a stone that refused to move.

He sat beside her, quiet for a long time. The kind of quiet that doesn’t ask for answers, only presence. Then, gently, he said,
You can’t.
Some feelings just don’t have a language.

And in that moment, she understood. There are wounds that live beneath the surface, untouched by syllables. Grief that curls around the soul in ways no metaphor can reach. Love that burns too brightly to be captured by ink.

They stayed there, in the hush between sentences. No more words were needed. The silence spoke for them—raw, sacred, and true.

©️ Beatriz Esmer