This unexpectedly came across my social media feed yesterday. These simple words hold such personal impact that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it – especially the last number of lines. They encompass a different kind of loss and the social disconnections, struggles, exhaustion and grief that navigating this invisible disability entails. Reading some of the comments, apparently it touched the world of a number of people. In response to their comments, the author had given consent to share his words, so I will do that here, with credit.

Between the Sounds – by Barton Breen (2025)

Some days my world
talks through water,
voices bending round the edges
before they get to me.

A friend says morning,
but I hear more rain.
Someone says careful,
but it lands like air full,
and I’m left smiling politely
while my mind scrambles
to catch the thread I lost.

It’s tiring…
this guessing game,
this fill-in-the-blank living
where every syllable
comes with a tiny jolt
of “did I hear that right,
or did I botch it again?”

High voices break first,
light notes slipping out the back door
before I can grab them.
Soft words vanish in the turn of a head.
I nod anyway.
I hate asking twice.
Others hate me asking too,
So I stay quiet.

Truth is, I live between sounds,
in the hush where meaning hides,
where a simple yes
can become guess,
and a quiet love you
turns into lost you
for just a heartbeat
before I reel it back.

People think I’m slow,
or lost,
or not paying attention.
But really I’m working harder
than anyone sees,
stitching half words
into whole moments,
trying to stay close
to conversations
that keep slipping
through small cracks
in my ears.

And at the end of the day,
when I finally rest,
there’s a strange kind of peace
in letting the world go quiet,
no more chasing sounds
that never quite arrive,
just me,
and the soft truth
that I’ve been carrying more weight
than anyone ever knew.

~*~