Words' End

Silence is eloquent. It is silence that reveals the communion of two souls—when you slip into that sudden space like children burrowing under a blanket, and the quiet moments fit in time like puzzle pieces. Silence can be a thing of discomfort, discordance, a desperate search for words—any words—to shatter the inappropriately intimate hush, stretched taut and straining like a rubber band. Then there is a silence that chills the bones like a starless winter night, bare frost-laced branches pointing accusatorily toward a muted heaven. A silence filled with unanswerable questions; the silence of separation and isolation. Yearning for connection, you cry out in the night—but there is no answer. Only a cavernous emptiness, and the knowledge that, try as you might, you cannot fill it alone.
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