I didn’t see it with my eyes–
I heard it in the quiet whispers,
in the long, disconnected stares,
in the paranoia–
a secret so loud
it shattered the glass
between me
and my reality.

I didn’t see it with my eyes–
I read it in the subtle glances,
in the carefully crafted characters—
the ones you wrote
and the ones you played.
In the conversations
taken outside,
where no one could hear.

I didn’t see it with my eyes–
I felt it in where you chose to sit,
in the favoritism,
in the food picked off your plate–
as if something had already been shared
beyond a mutual taste
for fine cuisine.

I didn’t see it with my eyes–
I heard it in what wasn’t said,
in the pauses that lingered
too long to be innocent,
in laughter that arrived
a second too late.

A secret so loud,
it learned how to whisper.
It followed me home.
Slept beside me.
Borrowed my dreams
to tell me the truth
you wouldn’t.

I didn’t see it with my eyes–
I felt it in my soul
And I woke up knowing.

–The Nonconformist