Complete, utter, empty silence.
The kind that makes you aware of your heart
as it thumps in your chest,
or the slight whistle to your breath
as you inhale through your nose
and keep in it selfishly.
I hate it.
So much can be fit into that silence.
It's like a credence in my chest.
Music, conversation, nature.
Anything.
Thoughts exist and protrude.
Anything can seep through.
Everything.
The absolute absence
of all noise is ominous.
For the world to be completely devoid of any noise
is the worst of loneliness.
Desolation.
It's filled with all of what is sitting
beside our bedside tables.
Untouched,
our minds left to be excavated.
Imagine being alone with your own thoughts.
Scary and foreboding.
Imagine having to fabricate the voices of people,
with their chain smoker dialogue,
their reactions and poise.
Fabricated noises as they stir in their seats.