I hear your Silence, don’t worry, my love. I hear the meaning in all the words you let crescendo in your head and fade back out again.
I hear the dulled arguments that tap against your glass, half-heartedly trying to break out. I hear your silence, it’s okay, the airwaves don’t need more noise, anyhow.
Your silence is a language I have come to understand. My learned fluency isn’t something I want to brag about, it’s just what is. It’s how you speak and how you speak makes others have to learn a new language.
It’s funny how my Silence and I write songs and serenade the stars. Your Silence is deadly, she is only interested in how jagged she can make the scars.
We all have our Silence that we carry when we are in need. It can be magic, it can be safety, it can be murderous and filled with greed.
I hear you, my love, I do. Your Silence and mine don’t play the same tunes. You take yours and let it soil your bed. I take mine and make art, masterpieces, in my head.
My Silence is a comforting friend. She understands the demons that walk alongside me on leashes, in chains. Your Silence is pulling at her lead and foaming to rip out throats when you allow her to feed.
It’s okay, I understand. We can’t all grow or change or learn to soothe beasts with our bare hands. Your Silence is rabid and wild, in need of a more gentle man.
My Silence understands me. She is quiet when I need to speak, listens when I need just a moment to think. My Silence doesn’t want to be anything but kind to me.
It’s okay, my love, I hear you and your Silence. It makes us pity the very silent relationship you and your Silence share. I understand, when she bites and ravages you, you think that’s how she cares.
We hear you.