Whisper on the Rain

They didn’t see me,

just a passenger pressed

against rain-streaked glass.

A secret slipped out like steam

in the chill.

Two faces blurred,

words soft as wet leaves

falling on forgotten streets.

I caught the sound, not meant for me,

a weight heavier than the bus.

Silence sits on my tongue,

a bitter pill swallowed

for want of better choice.

Not my story,

but the quiet grows inside,

like damp on old wood,

cannot be ignored.

---

The rain writes in grey,

a language I can’t speak,

and I carry the secret

like a stone in my pocket.