Translated by AI

In a relationship, silence is often not an end but a new language.

It is not sharp, yet it carries weight.

When words are exhausted, people begin to coexist in silent mode—

an understanding of "not speaking" that both comprehend.

Sometimes they are not truly at a loss for words, but rather, they know too well that speaking will lead to no result.

Those who were once accustomed to late-night conversations later only say "go to bed early" or "talk after we're done."

The sentences remain intact, but the warmth in their tone is long gone.

In modern relationships, silence is packaged as maturity.

People call it "giving each other space," "no longer forcing," "letting things be."

However, most of the time, these words are merely gentle excuses for escape.

True space is meant for breathing; this kind of silence feels more like a vacuum.

Breakdown in relationships does not necessarily come from arguments, but more often from a lack of expression.

Silence is the easiest language to misunderstand.

It seems calm but is actually an invisible tug-of-war:

one waits to be understood, the other pretends not to notice.

Over time, their rhythms gradually diverge,

leaving behind only "it's okay" and "whatever."

Such relationships appear stable on the outside but have long since dried up inside.

People begin to replace passion with habit and mask distance with tacit understanding.

Those everyday dialogues—"have you eaten?" "Must be tired today"—

are no longer concern, but polite maintenance of order.

Silence creates the illusion that as long as things are not brought up, they won't break.

But the truth is quite the opposite;

relationships do not collapse from quarrels but die in silence.

An argument at least signifies caring; silence marks the beginning of giving up on understanding.

Such "silent mode relationships" are particularly common today.

People fear emotions, fear conflict,

and are accustomed to maintaining a composed appearance, yet in that composure, warmth fades away.

When everything requires "speaking nicely" and "facing rationally,"

honesty seems too intense.

They draw their words inward,

letting the noise in their hearts quietly spin—no one hears it, no one asks.

Thus, silence is no longer a buffer but a barrier.

Every "it's nothing" is like quietly locking a part of the heart.

The hardest decay to perceive in a relationship

is when "what does it matter what you say" replaces "why don't you say something."

Such gradual dismantling has no sound,

but it can dissolve every bit of intimacy in silence.

True intimacy is not having nothing to say but still being willing to speak.

Even if it's noisy or awkward,

that courage to allow oneself to be misunderstood is the warmth of a relationship.

Because silence may preserve the surface, but it drains the soul.

Perhaps, ultimately, people must learn to speak amid silence—

even if the voice trembles, it's more honest than quiet.