Unavoidable nothingness. A quiet that is deafening. Silence is the void; broken by noise which shatters it like glass. The lack of life to break the deafness with ragged breaths and the beating of a human heart. Silence is noise, but quite unlike one we are accustomed too. It is the deafening lack of noise that is noise, the loudest of noises one could hear, as they're no other competing sounds to disperse what is perceived as silence. True silence, it is said, is golden. And though this may be true; silence is also lonely, a constant companion nonetheless of your innermost thoughts. The sound of silence is not the lack of noise; but the misinterpretation, the misconception of what is sound.

It is an unmistakable sound, especially when you live and opperate in "the race." But where do you find such a sound today?

I have only heard it twice.

Once in the rain forest while it snowed flakes the size of plates.

The other, on the side of the mountain just before the sun set and the atmosphere was at an equal Librium.

Oddly enough, it was the most impactful sound I never heard.

Deafening.

By definition

Absence of sound

Yet is deafening

consuming all that it touches

So loud

I beg for it to stop

The corners of the room piercing out, pointing in.

The weight of whispers against your ears, resurrected.

The youngest you will ever be, stripped just like that.

And that.

And

The beat of a heart.

Hearts. None of them yours.

Of the graying and the grayed.

When they stop, how on earth will you find them again?

The lives inside yours. Splitting and cracking, snapping like bark.

Rings. The rings exposed.

The ringing

A second swells. The moment bleached.

And the blindness of that bleached moment.

The blindness of all this

The blindness.

The blindness.

The blindness.

The blindness of the