The Sound of Silence

cw: death, mental health, physical abuse

1. Imagine this: the world is so loud that it feels like it’s swallowing you whole. The clatter of dishes, the rush of traffic, the ticking of a clock that never seems to stop, the incessant chatter, the endless clamor of life.  And then — nothing. The sound vanishes. It’s suffocating, like a weight pressing down on your chest, and in that deafening silence, you realize something: you’ve been living in fear of this moment all along.
2. I used to hate silence. It wasn’t just uncomfortable — suffocating. The stillness between words, the hollow spaces in the conversation, where the weight of unspoken things pressed down on my chest.
3. But then, something changed. The noise became unbearable, and in that chaos, I found myself searching for a space where I could finally breathe. A place where I could exist without the weight of expectations, without the constant hum of life demanding my attention. And there it was — silence, waiting. No longer an enemy, but a strange kind of refuge.
4. Silence was something like relief. It didn’t try to fix me. It didn’t ask anything of me. It simply was. And in that simplicity, I found a peace I didn’t know I craved.
5. It wasn’t love at first sight. It began quietly. A comfort, an appreciation, an affinity. Then, one day, it became serious. Then, one day, it became painfully personal.
6. And so, I fell in love with silence – a spell or a curse (take your pick) cast upon me. One that I’ve longed to stay under, or desperately wanted to lift. Perhaps both.
7. But what kind of love is it, really? The kind that comes in soft whispers, not demanding, but always present? The kind that slips into every crack and crevice, filling the spaces where noise used to dwell, until it’s all that remains? Silence is no loud declaration, no grand gesture—she is quiet, but she is there. There’s a strange beauty in loving her—silent, constant, unyielding. It’s the kind of captivity that feels like freedom. She asks for nothing, demands no explanation, yet there are moments when I feel like I owe her everything. The absence she brings is overwhelming, but it is hers, and I have grown to love it. I have come to need her, this silence, more than anything else.
8. What is silence? Scientists tell us that it’s the absence of sound waves. Socrates highlighted the value of silence in pursuing wisdom, arguing that one must often remain silent to listen and learn. In existentialist thought, Jean-Paul Satre often emphasized the discomfort of silence, suggesting that it reflects our solitude and the absurdity of life.
9. I admit that silence may have mirrored my loneliness. It started as a mild ache, an ache that grew – sharp and insistent, until it was unbearable – like a cold that settles deep within your bones.
10. It was a refuge. The absence gave me a moment to retreat and breathe. But this relationship soon turned abusive; Comforting moments became suffocating, my lungs shrank, and the air became water.
11. But I must say, even a bad relationship has its moments. For instance, when my cousin’s entire family passed away in a crash, all I had to offer was silence – a silence that screamed and cried till it bled and died.
12. I wonder, what does it mean to listen to silence in a world that values noise? What do you think?
13. In this cacophony of content, where superficiality reigns, and depth is sacrificed for fleeting fame, silence is a luxury few can afford. Art that whispers is drowned out by the relentless roar of mediocrity, as society clamors for the next shiny bauble, ignoring the richness that lies beneath the surface. 
14. Take The Sound of Silence, for example. Paul Simon’s haunting lyrics illuminate a stark truth: in our frenzied pursuit of connection, we’ve managed to drown out the very silence that could save us. The song incapsulates a world shouting into the void, where meaningful communication is lost amid a noise of distractions.
15. Confucius stated, “Silence is a true friend that never betrays.”  – I agree.
16. I wonder what it would feel like to be silence. To hold your pain, your secrets, your questions? To be the void you pour yourself into? To be your confessor, your solace, your escape—but also the mirror you’d rather not look into.
17. I must admit, silent moments make me introspect – Mirror-mirror tell me true: was trading innocence worth the guilt? Was falling in love worth the heartbreak? Was heeding advice worth the failure? Was choosing loyalty worth the isolation? Was lying worth the loss? Was forgiveness worth the betrayals?
18. Soon enough, I’m going to start speaking in riddles. Although everything seems like a riddle these days. The question isn’t can you solve it? It’s do you really want to know?
19. In a world that glorifies noise, choosing silence feels like an act of rebellion. Yet, this choice often leaves me grappling with feelings of inadequacy and fear of missing out. I wonder if I’m truly embracing silence or merely hiding from the clamor of expectations. 
20. There is something intimate that words cannot touch. It holds you in the spaces where language fails, where the weight of what’s unsaid becomes unbearable. I came to crave those moments, not because they were easy, but because they were real.
21. You say you’ve fallen in love with me. How flattering. How terrifying.
22. Love is frighteningly capricious – The way it turns, without warning, from something that feels safe to something that holds you captive.
23. It’s hard to explain what it does to a person when someone you love, someone who’s supposed to protect you, becomes unrecognizable. The walls feel too thin, the air feels too thick, and you can do is sit in silence and ask, hope, pray for peace.
24. I think that’s when I truly fell in love with silence. Not just as a momentary reprieve, but as the only constant. It was the absence of shouting, of crying, of doors slamming, of threats hanging in the air like poison. Silence became the one thing I knew how to crave, the one thing that never demanded anything of me. It never hurt me. It never left me feeling responsible for someone else’s pain.
25. Maybe it’s the absence of everything that hurts. There’s always something missing — a presence, an anchor, a breath, a touch, a whisper — a spark to make the stillness bearable. And in that moment, I realized: no matter how much I needed silence, it could never replace you.
26. If you ever read this, know that there was a time I would have traded every word, every moment of silence, for just heartbeat beside you. In that stillness, your presence would have been the only sound I ever needed.

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