violet lichen
I read between lines that were never there,
chasing ghosts of unspoken air.
A sigh feels like a bitter clue,
a pause - an insult I never knew.
A glance away - was that regret?
Or just a thought they hadn't met?
Laughter rings, but was it real?
Or just a mask they meant to seal?
I twist and turn each quiet sign,
make riddles out of things benign.
And when there's nothing left to find -
I misinterpret everything, even the silence.
marsh nest