Clandestine

They always told me that in the deep, empty regions of space, nobody could hear a single sound. That this sky full of colliding bodies couldn’t even make out a whisper. That no matter how hard I scream or cry, the air can only go so far, and I’d be left gasping. Like a tree falling in a lifeless forest, even the hardest of crashes just sink into nonexistence. I often find myself wondering about this, and the very thought of it scares me—to have the whole world illuminated and screaming at the top of its lungs, only for me to end up in isolation with my tongue held back. So when I get the chance, I lay myself against the dirt and underneath the stars, plug my ears, and press play. I let the music echo into my mind and fill the silence I’ve created. A reminder of this giant sphere of existence, this spinning chaos of noise I have grown to love. And so, I keep wondering, will I always have to live in this suffocating quiet?

It wasn’t until I met you when my whole world tilted at a different angle. When the playlist of my life shifted into songs that accompanied the beating of my heart, as if the clamor of this cruel world were just two ballads away from diminishing. It was naive to think so, but I pieced every dumb bone in my body and fell headfirst. I didn’t recognize days and nights, only minutes lost and moments lived. When the sun rose, it meant another time of loving you in secret. It meant writing poetry, only being with you in spilled ink and torn paper, the only place where my confessions were welcomed in the daylight. But when it sank below the horizon, it meant finding you underneath my window, throwing stones like a star-crossed lover in the anthology of romantic tragedies. You were always brave like that—and I was always ready to brave everything with you. For the first time, the music never stopped playing and the harmonies only got sweeter through the months. But soon enough, pandemonium broke out and it grew louder each day, a sick yet strong attempt to drown us out. When did the world I’ve grown to love become the one I’ve grown to be hated in? I never knew your stones knocking on my window were asteroids that would collapse our very existence—but I’m the fool ready to take every single hit. Let me leave every piece of me open, mark exes on every weak spot, and surrender to your piercing crash into my atmosphere. I’ve spent too long in fear of holding my tongue to know that it is only in hushed courage where actions are most powerful. So keep the lights off, lock the door, and let the music fade out from the night. Here, we speak the language of silence, echoing louder than anything else. We are the planets that crumble into space—precious fragments of the wreckage, living beyond moments and floating along the strings of fate. Somewhere, in this infinite map of darkness and quiet, we still exist. After all, if I fall for you, and no one is around to hear the whispers of my heart, doesn’t it still matter all the same?

After Us

story by Nicole Kaye E. Lipa illustration by anonymous