Dissonance in the Silence

The silence and I had once been one. We’d shared a mutual understanding and comfort in our moments of uninterrupted dialogue. It had examined the parts of me I was too scared to confront on my own. Had helped me realize there’d never been anything to be afraid of in the first place. During that moment of self-discovery, colored through with a little misery, I’d found a home in the stillness.

But somehow, that changed. It’s all fragmented bits and undone reflections of something I don’t recognize anymore. I keep running from it. The silence makes me uncomfortable. Its presence feels intrusive, though I remember it being gentle; a nurturing brush over my thoughts. Compelling. And I cannot pinpoint when this disconnect started to corrode what I’d come to love.

I chase the silence away at every chance. I crush it. Stamp it out. Drown it in frenetic waves of music, until my head pounds and my ears ache. It’s a monster, waiting in the staves to tear me to shreds as soon as the noise drifts away. I’m frightened by it. All over again. It’s something I cannot understand anymore. And I don’t know why.

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