Sunday Silence

The quietest nights are when I hear your voice the loudest. I hear the best of you, the kindest words you ever spoke, or the tears of joy. I hear the sound of 'I love you.' I hear you making plans for a future of paper rings and adventure. It’s deafening in this silence, how clear and loud you come through. “You’re my twin flame, my forever, my OTL.” 

I try to respond, but you don’t hear me. I could never reach you, not really. On quiet Sunday nights you are the loudest in my room of solitude. You’re leaning on the bedroom door frame with your arms crossed, looking in at me in a way I haven’t seen in years. Happy. Content. Watching me write about you surrounded by what you would consider to be too many pillows.  

You speak to me about the best times and remind me that nothing will ever feel like us. Like a puzzle piece sliding into its perfect place; the feeling of home, and hope, and roots being planted. You remind me that surprisingly, I didn’t run. I didn’t consider what else was out there. You remind me that whatever comes next will be just a little less incredible. 

I swear some Sundays I feel as though you’re here with me and not just a voice. I find myself looking to the porch waiting for the grand gesture I know will never come. Hoping that I can somehow transfer you from the voice in my head, to a full fledged human being in front of me. Willing you into existence. I visualize a text coming through with your name on it. Something to bring me back into reality with you in tow. I don’t want to exist here, without you, anymore. 

I send you telepathic messages in my mind hoping you’re sitting in a quiet room on a Sunday night wondering what I’m up to. I wonder if you receive them or if I am already an ugly thought that you have to shove away. Or Maybe you’re thinking about me writing about you on a cramped bed. Maybe you’re thinking I’m happy and hate you. Maybe you think I’m still crying over you. Maybe you think I don’t think about you at all. Maybe you don’t. 

Too many maybes for a Sunday night. I’ll whisper I love you and I miss you into the stars and reach for my radio in hopes it will drown out your silence

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I like the part about transferring the other from the voice in my head...
at the end of this I was left thinking...what if the speaker turned on the rado to drown out the silence
and the song "Silence is Golden" by the Tremeloes is playing.

j.

[willweb]

Another brutally honest piece of writing. "Watching me write about you surrounded by what you would consider to be too many pillows." It all feels so real and I suppose it is. I have had some nights like this and I am happy they are in the past now.

[Salem Fitzgerald]

Thank you. I know I will get there one day :)