Saturday, January 5, 2013

The Silence

It's the silence that holds the words that really matters. The silence is where you find the true meaning of what is (not) being said. The words are merely potholes in the conversation, meant to distract you from everything else. To distract you from the (truth) silence, because - you see - in the silence is where everything else grows. Contempt. Joy. Happiness. Rage.
Silence is the petri dish for stunted emotions. And in knowing this, you being to realize, the clinking silverware isn't accidentally running into each other, but are sounds of what isn't being said. Just as the plates that are put away too loudly, and the cupboard door closing a bit too hard. They are the hints as to what needs to be said, housewares tongues that speak volumes.

But nothing is said. So it changes.

Fear grows out of the silence. If you wait to long to questions it, the nothings become shadows, and the shadows become fears - fears that haunt you. But there is always oblivion too. A place where people go who can't hear the silence at all, they hear every other word, but it only sounds like the clinking and the slamming. The brain forgot to process the enunciation, and was left with a sound effect. Bang. Boom. Clink. Zap. Bam. CRASH!
I suppose that's better than the fear.
Because the fear... well, that is something on it's own.

Unbridled, some would say - and why? Because not asking, hoping and wishing the silence will just "go away" - it never works. All you're left with is the fear "What if? WHAT IF?" and too much time brings us to unbridled. (its so much nicer when that is coupled with "passion" and not "fear", but that's the silence for you.)

The unbridled fear, if not taken care of (which probably won't be, seeing the silence was never dealt with) then will morph into paranoia. You will lose sleep over assuming what it all meant, knowing - somewhere deep in the back of your brain, if you would have just asked, none of this would be an issue in the first place - but you didn't and here we are, and it's 3am, and sleep isn't coming because you have distorted and twisted the silence and the fear into paranoia and you think you know, but you know you don't know, because you can't possibly know, but you have to know, and why can't I sleep? and why can't I sleep? and why can't I sleep??

Then you do.
And it's dawn.
And for a moment you feel normal - like the silence never came in the first place.
But then you remember.
And you're brought up to speed like a montage in a million movies that should have never been made.
And the shortness of breath starts
Panic ensues

All because you never dealt with the silence

Then, there you are - back at the beginning - alone with the quiet one, the one who isn't saying things with their words, just with cutlery and baking sheets. It's been hours, days, weeks, months - and everything is hanging there. Weighting you down.

And s/he looks at you and you looked at them - it's the crossroad to  fix everything, to ask what you should have asked before the whole warped situation spun out of control, leaving you haggard and antsy.

All you have to say is, "What's wrong?"
All you have to say is, "I'm sorry."
All you have to say is, "I love you."
"Can I help?"
"Did I do something?"
"What can I do to make this better?"
"Do you need some time alone?"

and you say...

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