Breach of Solitude

What is heard when nothing is said?

Everything?

Nothing?

More than you might think; I know that. Disapproving with fierce, friendless eyes or accepting with a mighty grin full of pluck and pith, I read you. I can feel your pulse popping in my brain, sending secret messages that peel away the layers of your clever disguises and reveal your heart, your secrets.

It’s not a noble endeavor, estrangement. You hide your real self like a child hides candy, not with selfish motives, but because it seems … right … necessary. How many eyes and noses and mouths you must possess.

Those faces are like segments of a sweet citrus fruit, clinging until they are easily broken apart, spraying a delightful fragrance that burns the eyes and nose of anyone present. Once the bitter peel is removed, the juicy, tender flesh that remains dances in the mouth to the tune of ‘Mmmmmmm’ and leaves everyone hungry for more while wiping at a burning retina.

But you refuse to give it in any abundance. Is truth so unsettling that you prefer the sticky adhesive of a polished veneer? Do your knees ache and bleed when you so fervently pray to the gods of your fears, arms outstretched like lightening rods seeking electric pain to erase your sleepless panic … hiding in the quiet dark, praying that time might stand still?

Is what you crave, peace or silence?

... because you cannot get those things from yourself.