Silence

She smelled like midnight snow. The kind of quiet, peaceful cold that softens the harsh edges of the world. She wasn't the sun like so many poems and stories claim to be the hero in the story, but she was the moon, a light of hope for those lost in the dark. When I fell into her gaze, I could finally breathe.

She held tension in her neck and shoulders, often absentmindedly massaging the constant ache that plagued her. She never spoke of the pain aloud. It wasn't an excess of pride, she was just indifferent to her physical body, never wanting to dwell on what lay outside her beautifully chaotic mind for too long, fearful that she would lose the sweet tang she claimed came from missing a vital piece she could never find.

She was always tired, eyes heavy with the weight of her ancient soul. They claimed you can't see what a person is thinking, but when you looked and truly saw her, you knew it was a lie. She wasn't an open book, but a library that need only be presented with the right key.

When the corners of her mouth would lift and the edges of her eyes would crinkle, that right dimple would make an appearance and the world slowed just a little, trying to capture her joy in a moment of stillness. She presented as just that, stillness. An unwaveringly solid force that seemed to always be on the brink of either deciphering the meaning behind the stars or on the edge of a precipice that sung a song sweet enough to romanticize the fall. Neither were too far apart to be counted as separate.

That stillness only ran surface deep, however, and a glance inside her mind would reveal a myriad of connections. That was what she lived for: finding connections...between people, objects, places, ideas...she never wanted to stop looking for answers, and when she couldn't find them, her mind created them for her.

Her mind loved her too much. It overwhelm ed her with the power it held, and more often than not, created more problems than it solved. From the moment she awoke in the morning to her last thought at night, every second was spent chasing silence. That was her sweet addiction. The roaring of music and the distraction of books and art could only do so much, but she filled her hours with as much tangible passion as possible, desperately trying to drown out the screaming in her head with silence that screamed even louder.

I don't know if she was ever able to find her silence, but when I ask the stars to watch over her, they wink in reply, and tell me they always care for their own.