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i revel in the impenetrable fortress that is silence, the queen of my own kingdom. but what is this silence? is it a silence that locks sound out? or a silence that cages words in? why do i not speak? why do i not want to? why do i prefer the comfort of the cold stone wall? why do i stay in the echoing space of this place? but it is all metaphorical is it not? for amidst this silence is the familiar sound of a piano, and a slight whirr of the fan. it is warm beneath the sheets of color-patched quilts, and dripping after a rainstorm. it is peppered with people, and internships, bills, and homework. it is littered with old debris of summers gone by, and the scaffolding of tomorrow. what then is silence? a stillness of the soul. and what of it? am i silent because i wish to be still, or because i cannot speak what i want to say. what. what do i even want to say? perhaps, it is about cutting down these thoughts, and hewing them into furniture, for the solemn fortress of silence i call my own. it is all so dissatisfying. |