The sound of silence

Has always lived in me, not quietly,

Not gently, but loud enough to bruise the heart.

It rises without warning,

In crowded rooms, in scrolling hands, in faces lit with achievements

And borrowed joy.

Sometimes it grows so intense

That tears roll down

With no story attached.

No trigger.

Just pressure.

Just the body surrendering

To something the lips cannot name.

I watch people run.

Study…

Build…

Compete…

Smile for mirrors and timelines.

They say they are changing the world,

Climbing towards meaning, pulling others down

So the climb feels taller.

But all I hear is shouting

Inside a sealed room.\howling that never reaches itself.

Noise dressed as purpose.

Movement mistaken for depth.

I see people swear upon God

That his words are the best of all.

Empty words.

Not cruel, not evil,

Just hollow enough

To echo.

And yes!

They touch the emptiness in me.

Not because they own it,

But because that reminds me

How easily sincerity is performed.

When my friends are happy,

I don’t envy them.

I don’t resent their light.

I stand beside it

And feel nothing ignite.

It’s not that joy is absent.

It’s that the volume is low,

As if my heart learned

To whisper

Instead of singing.

I am not broken.

I am not bitter.

I am just standing

At the edge

Where silence becomes so loud it feels like grief.

And still,

Somewhere beneath this weight,

I know:

emptiness that can be felt this deeply

Was once capable

Of great fullness.

That memory

Is what keeps me here,

Listening, waiting, breathing through the sound

Those refuse

To be quiet.

January 2026