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My silence,
many times,
is not of absence. 
But of contemplation 
of how life 
life goes by. 
And of how 
what we want
can be taken away from us,
the day 
the day we least expect it.
My silence,
sometimes,
is not one of forgetfulness.
But of observation 
of how life 
dresses itself 
with the fleeting. 
And of how 
words 
are sometimes
are not enough 
to express
emotions,
for those beings 
who have given everything 
without trying 
to receive something.
My silence,
almost always,
is not a lack of empathy.
On the contrary, 
life 
is nourished
with something as simple 
as saying: 
I AM WITH YOU.
My silence 
is not of omission. 
But of emotion
and of memories
for those moments 
where life 
gave life 
to life.
And for those, 
circumstances,
where life
became poetry 
and my feelings
sheltered,
beautiful fantasies.
My silence, 
generally,
only speak to me of you.
And that,
to my brain 
does my brain good
because they are lightning flashes
of intimate intensity
that are only content
with the knowledge
that you exist.