In the silence that follows our heated exchange,
I see the fragments of words we threw,
Each syllable a shard of glass,
Reflecting our shattered dreams.

Your eyes, once a haven of warmth,
Now blaze with the fire of unspoken wounds,
We stand on opposite shores,
Divided by the river of our pride.

Yet even in this storm of discord,
I sense the lingering scent of love,
A fragile thread that binds us,
Even as we pull against its weave.

Let us not let anger be our guide,
For in the ruins of our disputes,
Lies the chance for gentle mending,
And the hope for whispered peace.