Hear How The Silence Screams



It is the deafening silence after the thunderclap.
It is the stifling still air after the rain.
It is the quiet after the roar of peoples.
It is the absence after the presence.

There is a certain sort of despair that happens in such a circumstance. It takes the form of a lingering lack of presence, its haunting chill looming over your shoulder and slowly filling the air around you, displacing all as it does. The dense atmosphere around you condenses as your mind begins to swim. You wish you had company to chase away the encroaching lack.

A drowning thought surfaces. What if you couldn't always have the highs? What if everyone was meant to float upon liquid mediocrity? Adrenaline cannot last forever, nor can euphoria. Trying to clutter your world with the busyness of business isn't quite going to shake the equilibrium and erupt a change. What if we were all meant to rough out not just the lows in life, but the middles too? Settling for nothing less than extraordinary would simply mean settling for very little.
You gasp for air, and inhale globs of frustration. You wait for the wind to come.

It is the deafening silence after the thunderclap.
It is the stifling still air after the rain.
It is the quiet after the roar of peoples.
It is the absence after the presence.

It is the I within nothing
And the nothing inside
Me.

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