In The In-Between

My chest grew tight, my spine grew still,

Your voice betrayed what you don’t will,

You smiled the same, but something slipped,

Your gaze went cold, your tone was clipped.

It hits before I hear a word,

A soundless shift, a wingless bird,

You don’t inform, yet still I’m told,

In pulses soft, in currents cold.

I feel the truth before it lands,

A quiet shift in unseen hands,

And every time, I hope I’m blind,

But knowing moves ahead of mind..

So lie, if that’s the game you choose,

It’s not your words, it’s what you bruise,

You speak in ways you never mean,

But I read you in the in-between.

Cathrine Hottran 2025