We learn to live with a lot of things. Deal with open hatred and envy, fight battles that we never dreamed up having in the first place, fall down and pick ourselves up again… ever on.
But silence… well, silence has a way of growing, of building itself up. Until at a certain, undefined point it starts to nurture itself, to sustain itself like some alien device. Built up from pictures, unsaid words, and loudly thought snippets of sentences that go unheard. Figments that go lost between the irrelevant and the importance of tomorrow. To the self they are real, almost ‘spoken’. In reality, they don’t exist.
In my mind and life I am a solitary wolf. I am used to silence around me (and very, very rarely in me), but there is nothing more painful than the deafening silence of the un-said… or the unshared.
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