Silence.
I appreciate silence. All kinds of silences.
The icy, breathless, peaceful silence of falling snow. The soft, wistful silence of an autumn’s day, the only sound the wind rustling the leaves. The silence of heavy breathing after you’ve had sex or laughed or cried together. The pause of hard thinking. The stillness of perfect presence. The comfortable quiet after a good meal.
But in recent years silence has started eating me up, inside out. In conversations or discussions where once upon a time I would have objected or argued passionately, I say nothing. Or at the most “I disagree.” Thoughts, dreams, questions, experiences I once would have shared on my blog or LJ or Dreamwidth remain secrets. Emotions unexpressed, fears unmentioned. In the shower, in a lavender bubble bath, on a walk, on the train I think about essays I’d like to write, about a series of blog posts I’d like to share. I compose them in the silence of my mind and that’s where they stay.
Silence surrounds me and fills me up. Invasive, enveloping.
I’m not sure how to break this habit.