Shhh… all the noise from the outside world disappeared today. I am alone… at last. I tried to fight it at first, went to the window, opened it and focused: nothing. Nothing can bring back the noise for a while. Maybe all that is left is silence, a dead, cold silence.
I hear anything that’s dead must be cold; there’s no other option. I think death is warm. I think she comes like a soft blanket that wraps around you when you are petrified by life’s cold. She must be a relief and a curse, she was built that way. I missed being cold and whenever silence comes, cold is the annoying friend that tags along uninvited. It creates little icicles in my memories and thoughts and forces me to create something new. I can never create if I am warm and comfortable. Nothing amazing can come out of a cozy situation.
It’s so quiet. The house is sleeping, the cat is yawning on the armchair and although I can’t hear it I can imagine the noise made by little feet that play with the blanket over them in a final effort to fight sleep. I can’t even hear my keyboard and my fingers are hitting it as hard as they can. Maybe a ghostly knock on the door, some loud memories, a coffee mug that breaks in the middle of the kitchen, or maybe an image that can explode transforming into different noises can shatter this quietness.
No, this new dead silence has to stay. It’s here, it’s mine, it’s cold. Shhh…