I don’t yearn, long or wish for silence. But I wonder what it would be like.
I’ve been to places that purport to be silent. Like the middle of the night or the desert or the sea. They are not so.
There’s always some hum or susurration. Always a faint something happening in the distance. Or there’s the regular thud and wheeze of the body being alive.
There’s a kind of silence within the filters and traps of perception. We block out this and that with our focus on the other. We immerse ourselves in stories so that both the tick of the clock and the passage of time stop dead.
There is silence also within my dreams. You come to me night after night and yet say nothing. The silence of your absence is deep, profound and never ending. You are lost to me. And your silence is as real and lasting as your grave.