Sounds of silence.
There’s the famous ‘awkward’ silence we all know. There’s the conspiratorial silence, between knowing eyes. There’s consolatory silence, one that comforts because it’s there. There’s the listener’s silence, one that listens carefully. There’s the critic’s silence, that listens intently and critiques brutally. There’s the I-know-you-too-well silence that smirks quietly. There’s introspective silence.
There’s also a silence that is pure, that has no purpose, no intent, no hidden agenda, but is merely a part of one’s being. It’s a silence that speaks when words do not suffice, it is a quietude that seeks the unspoken in your eyes.
There’s silence that is bubbling with words before they are spoken. It is a silence that is troubling, unless it is broken.
There’s silence that is empty for there is no one to break it, it’s a silence that is alone, you could pass it by, or take it.
There’s also a silence that is fearful of saying what’s on its mind, it’s the silence of the oppressed, a silence of the vicious kind. It is enforced, and it offers little choice. It is a silence that needs a voice.