I’m on an emotional high at the moment. I just had a stupendous evening, and now I can’t sleep.
It’s so late it’s early. What surprises me is the silence. No cars, no sirens, just the clicking of the keys on my keyboard.
There’s something about silence that puts me ill at ease. It pours over you, drowning perspective. The thing about silence is that it’s solitary. You can’t truly have silence when you’re with another person.
Silence is standing on the edge of the void, bending down over the chaos beneath- and stopping. It’s empty. It’s death. It must , because life is all about colors and sounds and movement, not the blank wall of nothingness that eats away at everything.
It is powerful, but that power is about illusions. In truth, it is superficial and fragile. One fracture is enough to destroy it.
Silence is the goosebumps on your arm, the shiver down your spine as you try to pull yourself together. It’s the breaths you take as you try to stay afloat in a world that is flooding. It’s the sensation you feel when someone is holding your hand and they suddenly let go, leaving you alone. It’s what happens when you realize you were at cross purposes for so long, only to discover it once it’s too late.
It’s the realization that the world is big and you are small, but somehow, you’re going to change the world anyways. It’s sunsets, stars, finishing a book that you wish went on forever. It’s that split second before you blow out the birthday candles while you try to think of what wish is most important. It’s gritted teeth after a fall, telling yourself not to cry.
It’s every perfect moment and every terrible one. Silence is the scrapbook of who you are in the shadows. It’s your life played out on a silver screen with no words.
Sometimes, in a world of words, we forget silence.