Silence

Anonymous

Unsettling. Heavy. Stifling. The symptoms but not the disease.

Silence.

Silence. The dim light diligently continued long into the early morning. The world beyond the windows lay shrouded by twilight. Darkness. Fear. Stillness. The creation, but not the creator.

Silence.

The pitiful white noises of the room buzzed in apathy. The lone heartbeat was devoured and twisted into the silence. The world still possessed sound, but what sound is quite as beautiful, and raw, and loud as the beat of a heart? Without the proud, hurt, nervous, and contented thumping of the heart, what's the point?

Silence.

The couch pressed against my bare arm and hung head felt like a caring shoulder. The warmth of the heater transferred waves of warmth through my exposed skin, seeping into the cold, still cavern in my chest. Silence. Why silence? For every sincere word, each unseen tear, and every sad expression, they all look back at me as though I'd said nothing at all. As though I'd remained in silence. Their ability to hurt me brings a bemusement to me that I seldom feel. The hurt you feel is also mine. The heart you have beating in your chest, I once had as well. So why is it, that when I say you're human, you look at me as anything but? Was it worth my voice? Was it worth my time? I hear it all, and regret.

Silence.