The Significance of Silence

Homo-sapians are a generation of silence.

When God forsake mankind, a pregnant pause hung in the shadows of the afternoon light. God preferred Silence.

When Adam walked the begotten land of sin and salvation, he looked on in bewilderment. Adam was relinquished of all words. He was silent.

When Eve, the mother of all creation emerged from between the ribs of the man who had transgressed, there was an awaiting silence. The angel of birth looked on in approval. Eve was born of the mute cries of a silent man.

When the need to converse over powered man, he spoke with his eyes, with his hands fluently gesturing every notion he envisioned, with his head eloquently dipped over his shoulder.

There was never a need for words. There was never a need to jeopardize emotion, to contaminate a conversation with nature, to extinguish the fire of passion, to conflagrate all ambitious thoughts into a meaningless string of words. There was never a need to belittle the significance of silence.

There were no words.

There will never be enough words to explain what needs to be said.
If at all, I do manage to use words, I will only sink into the abyss of my own pretentious clichés. Therefore I prefer silence. Nothing will be said. Nothing will be misunderstood. Nothing will be forgotten. Nothing will matter. In the end, I will preserve the image of you in my memory forever.

I listen to the soft explosions of your voice whispering secrets I know I’m not supposed to hear. Your lips move in a graceful waltz to the music of my sinking heart. Senseless! Effortless!

Your existence leaves one exposed to bitter thoughts. I could easily pick up a blade and cut myself as an invitation for death to dance around my spewing blood; but instead I embrace silence. I treat myself with the unassailable significance of wordless-ness.

Why do you exist as an entity beyond yourself in my wretched little heart?

Speak no kind words to me for I shall only linger in the shadows beneath your bed. Speak no vindictive words; I will only learn to love the odium within you. Speak of no lessons; I am only a product of my mistakes. Speak of no regrets; I will only punish myself for being a member of this vile society which nourished these grievances. Yours. Mine. Ours. Oh how I would prefer your silence.

Conserve the significance of silence, for me, for yourself, for us.

T’is funny how one lives to love, hopes to be loved, spends a lifetime in preparation of leaping into a world of non existence. When you love, you cease to exist. You are, because love is. But when love abandons, it shatters the remnants of your being into a million little pieces. We wither in our pain, in our misery, in our hollow existence. Perhaps, we grow. When all purpose to live is lost, we can only hope to invest in the past and find salvation in the ruined empires of our happiness. How we disappear for the world, but it never does disappear for us! Ti's funny, how we are only a mockery of ourselves!