The Quiet After I Explain

After I explain, I listen too hard. I study the pause. I read the smallest shift in the other person’s face like it’s a verdict.

The quiet can mean anything. It can mean they’re thinking. It can mean they’re bored. It can mean they understood me so completely there’s nothing to add.

But my mind always picks the option that confirms my worst suspicion: I didn’t say it right.

I want proof that my meaning arrived intact. I want to know I didn’t distort myself on the way out.

Maybe the proof is this: I spoke anyway. I let the quiet exist. I didn’t take it back.