The silence was enough to drive us all mad. It
would have too if we had not finally stopped breathing.
It echoed in our brains, this forlorn silence, as we
felt the blood draining from our bodies. They would say
we bled to death. That nothing could have staunched
the steady flow of blood or the memories, like leftovers
on the stove, who did you think would want them? They
would say we were murdered by indifference – cold eyes
darting furtively, back & forth, searching for a pain deep
enough to swallow your own. They’d say they always knew
we’d made more out of things than what was really there.
All of these words, released effortlessly, like doves following
the performance of an ill-formed union. Their words would soon
die away, as quickly as we did. Swallowed
by the quiet darkness that greeted us in our death. We died.
and the world was silent the day we died. And the silence rages
Peace & Love,
*Note: The line “The world was silent the day we died” was originally found in Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Moon, a novel I’m currently reading. The line spoke to me. There’s a message there for me about the seeming insignificance of our lives. Quietly we enter the world and quietly we leave. If we’re blessed enough to have made an impact on those whose lives we touched, the world will not be so silent upon our passing. Tears fall so very easily. Tears do not signal love. The need to hold on, even if it’s nothing more than memories, is love.
Enough ruminating for one evening. I have to get some sleep because I have another long day ahead of me, a day made less longer because, hopefully, I will be able to carve out some time for writing.