Silence is golden

Silence is not “golden”.

Silence is black. It is the impenetrable darkness that comes with closed eyes. It is the shadows between the branches of naked tress at midnight. Silence is heavy, weighing down on the shoulders of those in close enough vicinity to suffer it. It can be felt in the lower back or between the shoulder blades where the dull ache constantly reminds you of the silence. It can be felt in the eyes, as they swivel and browse for signs of unease or breaking. Silence hangs around the heads of those it envelops like a dense scentless vapour.

It is never totally absent of sound. Breathing, ragged and sharp, only makes the silence more deafening. Tears fall to the desk with an almost inaudible but significant thud. The sobs that follow, shattering silence, can only begin to unravel the tension that silence brings.

The phone does not ring. There are no e-mails. No letters. He does not drop by, dishevelled with turmoil and murmuring of reconciliation. He does not wait for you by your car. He does not hope to see you, accidentally on purpose. Silence makes you drag your feet as you walk. Hit ‘snooze’ a dozen times. Doodle on your next big assignment.

Silence is not golden. Love - painful, bitter, all-encompassing love - is golden.