No silence is true, for in the quiet, existence clamors. Our lives are spent within the sound of its voiceless roar, the emotion of our memories preserved like frozen crystals until silence whispers to us, reminding us of what we did not know we had forgotten. The sweet nostalgia of pattering rain and grumbling thunder. The homesickness of a rumbling air conditioner, exhaling its cool sedative. The anxiety of buzzing lights and blaring alarms. The unsettling strangeness of a place that is not our home yet holds the familiar to faces passed on the street. The comfort of rustling leaves. The hope of singing birds marking the arrival of spring as earth’s cold blanket melts away. The itching call of a distant train reminding of all there is yet to be explored. The infectious exhilaration of a rhythm that refuses to let feet stay still. The bittersweet voice of a loved one long since passed that still echoes in the ear. The steady beat inside our chests, pounding out the tempo of our lives. Quickening, phasing, the gauge of our emotion, the symbol of our own fragility. We are what we listen to. We are what we do not hear.
After a crazy week, it’s good to be back. My serial is in progress. I intend to start releasing it next week, so stay tuned!