Silences
I always believed silence was a form of rest, a truce amidst
the noise. But now I understand it as a mirror. One that does not distort, does
not forgive, that shows what we avoid looking at. In that reflection, I have
seen my face without masks, my fears crouching in the corners of my mouth, my
guilt wrapping around my throat like smoke.
Silence does not come alone. It brings with it thoughts that
were asleep—questions I avoided, words I did not say, emotions poorly folded in
the drawer of my soul. It appears just when I most crave noise, when the
television, music, and distant voices are not enough to drown out what lives
within me.
Sometimes, I look out the window in search of a distant
sound—a dog barking, an engine passing, a leaf crunching. And I cling to that
small echo as if it were a rope saving me from falling into the abyss of
myself. Because silence, when prolonged, can turn into vertigo. And looking
inward is frightening.
However, there are also silences that heal. That do not
impose but embrace. They are shared silences, those that need no explanation.
Like the silence of a gaze that understands, like the silence of a hand that
accompanies. In those silences, another kind of truth is breathed—one that does
not hurt but mends.
In my life, I have kept quiet many times—out of fear, out of
habit, to avoid hurting. But I have also been silenced—with gestures, with
indifference, with words that, though spoken, silenced who I am. And in that
clash of external and internal silences, I learned to speak to myself.
Sometimes with words; sometimes simply with presence.
Today, I choose my silences more carefully. I no longer fill
them just to fill them. I inhabit them. I observe them. I respect them. Because
I have come to understand that silence is not absence, but the presence of the
most intimate. And in that intimacy, I discover who I am—without need for
noise, without need for anyone else to hear.
At the core, there is a silence that does not weigh down.
That does not judge. That does not wound. That silence, which flows like a
serene sigh, is the one that most accompanies me. Because in it, at last, I can
simply be—without explaining, without fearing, without pretending.
And there, in that complete silence, I find myself.
#Prose
#Literature #Silence #Medmultilingua