...So, where were we? Don't believe I don't know my reader is there, whether it be in a singular or more plural figure. Just because of the silence of you, it doesn't mean I neglect to ponder your presence, and I can still feel your breath on my writer's neck. Oh, yes, we were discussing the silence of our times, our modern charming world. Well, precisely the lack of it, and the acute surprise whence it befalls us, it sweeps us up in its fleeting arms.
Do you just see words, can you cooperate with the loneliness of the words on the page and fall into some great meaning, as everything continues around you outside your earthly bubble? Gravity, fixes us here, takes all our energy at times, sinking through my feet. Perhaps I swing from my theme of contemplation, alas, I shall endeavour to return and focus (as my dad swears I never can...)
Silence. I love you and hate you all at once. Like the best women, like my head, like everything of any value, it has a heavy dark side, a joy attached that makes us feel spectacular. The dogs barking, like some mad chorus, the electrical creatures that almost take over our existences, among them the buzzing fridges and cancerous television sets. The sounds of vehicles, and people, and thoughts that rarely leave peace in the mind, and the birds, the wind, the clock on every wall and the sound of a tense heart in a chest. Almost everywhere you look, go, dare to step there is noise, softening the blow of potential loneliness. Now, we are never going to have to cope with getting used to something that we hardly have the chance to cross paths with, are we? But Silence, I would certainly not mind if you sought me out a little more frequently,. or perhaps, and this is just an idea, maybe I should abandon my surroundings and come looking for you once in a while.
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