Silence

Silence.

It's interesting, is it not?

Sure, there is the sweet sound of wind in the trees,

The chirping of birds in the evening sun,

The scratch of this pencil on this paper,

Yet there is a silence.

Do you know this silence?

No, I doubt you do.

It's not a real silence.

It's more of a... je ne sais quoi.

Silence.

It is quite a paradox.

It requires something that is not there,

Yet when nothing is there, there is silence.

Just a thought really.

Mostly because I was trying to describe something,

This silence you have left me.

Me, here, at this table, in this chair.

You, out there, not quite a dog off a leash.

You were never on a leash.

Silence.

Not a happy silence,

Like the sound of your breathing while you slept.

It is a sad silence,

One that grips me and squeezes the life out of me.

How long since I saw you?

Surely, not for a year. It has been too long.

Too long for me not to have you in my arms.

Too long to remain sane.

Just too long.

Silence.

It's always been here.

Since the day you reluctantly left my side,

Right up until now, when all I see is your face.

And this rope. This rope in my hand,

Not unlike a child's skipping rope. But of different form.

It taunts me everyday that passes. Ive given it just about everything it wants.

Yet it is still unpleased. Maybe I shall finally quell its anger tonight.

And tonight, while there is still silence, it will no longer be lonesome.

That silence, it will be our silence.

Silence...