i’m not sure how much i like the quiet.
on one hand, it’s the most glorious thing I know:
the peace, the empty, the still.
but on the other hand,
i hear every little sound:
the rain on the window,
the hum of the refrigerator,
the clicking of the heater,
the dripping from the roof,
the cars on the highway.
and that’s not the worst of it.
it’s the thoughts in my head
that make the most noise.
the worries that likely don’t matter,
the fears that rarely come true,
the loneliness that can drive someone crazy,
the past screaming back at me,
what’s in a future of quiet,
when all your life
you’ve just longed to be heard?