Silence makes people uncomfortable. They try to fill it with noise and clutter as if it were a void. They think it is an empty, dead thing.
It is the scrambled classroom after the last bell.
It is the frozen darkness just before dawn when the world waits to resume.
It is the inside of the chapel on a Thursday.
It is midnight on the empty street street when the fog in the light of the street lamp puts everything into a hazy soft focus. . .
. . .and it is a minute later when he tells you that he doesn't want you anymore.
It is a second after the impact when the spinning world has come to a screeching halt.
After all of the frenetic pulliing of oneself apart, it is middle-of-the-night clarity.
It is the long, tense moment when the whole world holds its breath. . .
waiting for the baby to cry.
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