The Silence

There is a silence. Even in the most crowded of places, I feel a silence. For the longest time I could not identify its source. Indeed, like every good metaphor, it seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. There are times when I'm distracted and forget to notice it, but it compensates afterward and is louder than before.

There is a silence. I play music, dance, talk loudly, laugh, run, spend time with those closest to me. It persists. I write, read, draw. It grows heavier. Walking around town I cannot shake it, even by dodging across the street, hopping to and fro across the stream, hurrying past angry dogs in their yards. It follows.

There is a silence. It breaths down my neck in the daylight and stands at my bedside by night. I hide in virtual reality, watching movies, chatting with people I will never meet, doing my best to occupy myself, delude myself that there is nothing, but I can hear it.

There is a silence, tangible as the four walls around me, thick as cheese, and liquid as shampoo. It oozes under doors, smothers what light it can find, muffles any noise and waits, lingering eternally over me, reading my journal, listening to my mind, invading so acutely every crevice of the world that one could go mad.

It permeates every object, every word, every feeling, and smell. It resides in the very air so I must breathe it, and in the food I prepare myself so I must taste it. It speaks to me with every slamming car door, every singing wind-chime, every chirping bird.

There is a silence when she isn't here, a silence when we aren't laughing, a silence when I cannot touch her. A silence...

…in my heart.