Silence. This is the sound that goes on for miles. This is the sound that reminds me of you.
I can feel the wind howling through the floorboards of my living room. It is 4 am and the city has finally decided to sleep. The sun has yet to grace us with her appearance, and the dusty sky smiles at me through the fading stars that are calling it a night.
They have all heard my loneliest thoughts of you. They all know of the beautiful moments that we had and lost; the ones where my nerves jumped out of my body and fell into your unsteady palms; the nights when the whiskey would do the talking for you through song and dance; and the summer when we filled out boots up with lust, our palms with the summer sun, and our hearts with optimism. They know of the stories that cannot be created nor destroyed; and they bear as witnesses to the people we have both become.
But there is something about the dark spaces in the sky, where the light of the moon doesn’t touch the dark velvet drapes. They draw out the words that harbor under my ribcage. And during this beautiful in-between of night and day, out they swim into the room like smoke, sinking themselves into everything.
Some of them strike my pen, some my eyes, and some crawl into my ears. The words and letters, they dance to the rhythm of the fading night. Some fall into the shadows under my bed; some onto the thorns of the rose that you gave me. They are restless and occupy every inch of my room; no surface untouched, no thought unharmed.
I try to knit together these words, and wait for my pen strokes to catch up with the throbbing in my head. The words loop in infinite circles. Repeat. Repeat. I write. I write. I… I… I…
Patiently, they wait to be rescued.
Pen on paper. Lines into paragraphs. I see the puzzle slowly fall together into place. I let the night air hit my lungs, and wait for the last words to come trembling out of me.
At last, I am free from the thoughts caged in my mind; I am free from my thoughts of you.