Echoes — Sonali Konda

everything is so much ...louder when there’s only me and my thoughts.

the ac’s heavy exhale lurks in the corner of the room. i can forget about it, for a moment, when i’m on the knife’s edge of falling asleep,

but as soon as i notice it again, tune in to its familiar language of purrs and hums, i’m wide awake and listening.

every once in a while—just when i think it’ll never stop— it holds its breath

at this point too used to the whispers to let their absence go unnoticed.

royal lane never empties, not fully, so as i wait to fall asleep, watch the clock tick into the quiet, cold loneliness of early morning,

there are always cars, a crescendo and decrescendo of engine and speed,

noting each passing dull roar, each nighttime journey that beckons these people away from sleep.

and then, harmonizing with the ac’s murmurs and royal’s grumbling greetings, is the echoing, responding chime in my ears.

constant, ringing, wavering as a tide that approaches, hesitant, before retreating and trying again.

before, maybe, i’d say this is silent: the quiet of my room at night, with only the ac and the passing cars as company.

now, though? now it’s a crowd.