Silence
I listen to the silence of my life
Not the silence of night with crickets chirping
and the moon itself whispering in your ear
but the silence of nothing, nowhere.
But to me, it is the same as yesterday, and the day before
I don't ever remember hearing anything, seeing anything, being anything.
Nothing else is constant or reliable except this.
I listen to the deepest black, I see the cold emptiness, I feel silence.
I rest in this, knowing I will be nothing more than I am today.
And at just that moment, I see a tiny, tiny speck.
It can't be anything larger than a piece of lint, nothing really.
I watch it, unmoving.
It fades and comes back, like the tide of an ocean I've never seen.
In this empty space, there is only this the speck and myself.
I slowly let myself gravitate toward the object,
probably left by myself, traveling through this nothing
And I realize it's growing. And singing.
What could this possibly be, sharing my silence with me?
I walk forever, over hills and valleys of nothing,
and I realize it's very far away. But now I'm interested.
I walk tirelessly on nothing, until I see her.
A woman rests in my nothing, transparent, glowing
she sings and sings, and I watch her, entranced, as I come closer.
And she must not see me, I'm sure.
I'm sure she's here for something else.
And then she looks right at me, in my eyes, and I feel her
looking instantly into my soul, laid out for her in this nothing.
I take a chance, just a small one, and I look in her eyes
And I slide easily inside her, touching intimate memories.
She is very familar with this place of nothing.
She found the strength to leave
And she's come back for me.
She's come back for me? Impossible!
My deluded mind has made a fantasy in my nothing world
to entertain itself, I'm sure.
And yet, she watches me, singing soft and sweet,
and she holds out her hand to me.
She sings of a special man,
of a kind, open, strong man,
and yet, she holds her out her hand to me,
surely weak, and self-interested by any account.
I look at her stunning beauty, I hear her mesmerizing voice,
and I am afraid. Would I mar that voice, would I betray that beauty
by taking her hand? She still holds it out to me, patiently, waiting.
I am afraid....but I slowly reach out
I reach out until I'm almost close enough to touch her hand
and I wait for her to pull it back and fade away
like any true fantasy should.
And she doesn't. I dare her this time, reaching for her hand,
and as I grasp it
She grips mine. I feel her soft palm beneath mine, her firm hand,
and very quietly I hear crickets...
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