I love silence
and I loathe silence.
The quiet of it, the stillness of it, such a necessary evil, such a beautiful dream.
Silence lulls me and awakens me, caresses me and hits me.
I can find myself and lose myself in silence.
I can sit with it and I can rail against it.
I sometimes look forward to it, seek it,
claw desperately to make my way to where it is,
and I sometimes check my watch over and over, waiting for it to end,
and I sometimes run from it, not looking over my shoulder,
not wanting to see how close it has come to me.
Silence brings forth hope and fear
Love and loss
What was and what might have been
Wrongs and rights, yesses and nos.
Things I did and did not say hang heavy in the silence,
and sometimes the silence is just empty, hopeful, expectant.
Sometimes lovers, sometimes stalkers, silence and I don’t quite have it all
figured out yet but that is ok, and that is not ok.
Silence is a gift and curse, it is music and it is noise, it is poetry and it is smut.
It is everything at once,
and yet it is nothing.
My answer to the amazing Danielle LaPorte’s question, “What is your relationship with silence?” and the best I could come up with was…it’s complicated.