Tacenda*: Unspoken knowingness
Some things are better left unsaid
The unthought known stirs your soul when touched.
Untouched, the unsaid finds its way into the fabric of existence,
But if words are just words,
Why do we pour our hearts onto paper?
If breaths are mere inhales and exhales,
Why do we gasp for air in moments of despair?
Survival — the primal dance.
Souls entwine,
Hearts beat in sync, yet shatter in silence,
Yet, people overlook the essence of a kiss.
A little bit more than lips meeting lips.
My theory is
When lips meet in a tender embrace,
I pour bits of my soul into yours,
You pour bits of yours in mine
In that ephemeral union,
Time halts its relentless march,
Gazing upon us with an envious yearning.
That, my love, is infinity,
Don’t question how I recognize your essence;
You know I know,
A kiss transcends the physical;
A dance of souls.
What if my being pulled all its courage,
To reach out to yours,
To pick you from the crowd,
To leap into the abyss of the unknown,
To whirl and twirl in the dance of our overlapping existence?
Letting time stand still,
Catching its breath from its hectic march,
As I breathe in your essence,
And you, in mine.
Heart is full,
Mind is void,
Don’t ask why,
Knowingness is not necessarily an answer to a question
Tacenda
(n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed on in silence
pronunciation | “ta-’chen-da”
