By Nicola Rakuljic
Silence.
The deafening roar of nothing.
The inescapable void.
The breath that comes after a sentence,
where you hesitate for just a second,
before continuing on with your conversation.
The buzzing of noise in your ears,
the steady movement as you breathe,
the flicker of thoughts.
Wind rustling leaves.
Fabric brushing against itself.
A toe tapping along a rhythm.
Shoes scuffing along the ground.
A chair screeching as it is pulled out.
The tick of a clock’s hands.
Is that silence?
Silence.
The deafening roar of something,
some inescapable void of sound that
isn’t noise.
Hesitation,
breathing,
a lull in a conversation.
Rustling, brushing, tapping.
Scuffing, screeching, ticking.
Silence?
Silence.
That undefinable moment,
when everything in the world
stops.
When there’s nothing
and everything.
A cacophony of noise,
and yet it is tranquil.
Silence.
Silence.
Is it ever truly silent?