Silence – the way to describe there being a lack of sound, no noise, music, words or songs to be sung.
Silence for me, is memories of mixed emotions. It’s an oxymoron, for the silence can have different meanings, and sometimes the silence is needed. Whilst in others it is given.
It’s walking into the school hall late, and being able to hear a pin drop on the large wooden floors. Every face turns to see who creaked the door, the footsteps echoing as you walk towards a free seat.
It’s what we imagine when we go to sleep, the house sounds silence, not a noise, nor a peep. The electric appliances are all switched off, so silence must of been reached.
The one place that is not silent, ever, is in my head. The ideas whirling around it, twenty-four seven. The to-do lists for the day, and the next. Thoughts that stay in there shouted aloud, but never said. Songs I am singing along to myself, the hum or the rhyme taking over the mundane silence.
I was silent the first time I miscarried. I didn’t question the male doctor as he announced that the pregnancy was gone. Nor did I question the blood tests needed, or the return visit in a week’s time. Outside, I was stone, silent and cold. Inside, I was screaming. Reeling from the loss of what could have been, what should have been. When being repeatedly told I should be grateful to have one child, my mind kept shouting back that it should have been two. Yet, only my husband knows this, because the rest of the world saw silence. A barrier to stop showing the outside any form of weakness.
Silence was when inside I was counting to ten, at seeing the walls covered in pen. Our dear daughter had written ‘Happy Birthday Mummy’ on the walls, rather than on paper, or not at all. Smiling at the thought and logic, stamping down the need to remind her that pens belong on paper.
Silence, with it’s vague covering, was also my go to option when my step father died. I couldn’t possibly be weak when my mother and children were already struggling. So instead, I held it inside, hid the tears, and the impossible whys.
Whilst you hug me tight, there is not a sound in sight. But that hug speaks volume from the way you touch or why it was given. Even then, there is no silence within.
Not just the sad, and tragic events. Silence is when I create the best ideas. For I may not be talking, but I’ve just designed, a new project, an idea, a business line. Silence is when I secretly plan what Father Christmas will bring, to who, where and when. It does not mean that I’ve not heard, it’s a sign of my listening, the planning and sometimes ideas of the absurd.
Whilst writing this, the silence has been kept up. The sounds surrounding me, are only the tapping of the laptop keys. A background echo at the fantasy game that my husband chooses to play. But from me, there is no noise. The silence whilst I try to describe how I think.
For I never hear silence, whilst awake nor in my dreams. That’s not always as bad as it may seem.
This is my response to the Daily Prompt – Silence
Rose-Sky Journey Pieces.