I used to think that silence was a void that needed to be filled,
But silence is not nothingness,
It never was.
It’s full of unspoken words,
Which make our throat bleed.
It’s full of unresolved mysteries,
Tangled like numerous threads.
Silence is filled with stillness,
And it’s in the moments of stillness that we feel most alone,
And they cut us to the bone.
Being comfortable with silence is a rare art,
Those who experience this uncomfortable comfort
Fall in love with silence.
Where they come across unspoken words,
Where they discover old and new scars,
Where they untangle the threads,
And use them to weave together the future,
Because silence is full of beauty,
And all the things we cannot see,
The sound of our own heartbeat, and the rhythm of our dreams.