It is the sound of someone curled up in a tiny
ball crying softly in the night, the sound of
the first unwanted teardrop touching your skin,
it's the sound of a telephone that doesn't ring,
the sound of regret pounding inside your brain
with every heartbeat, it's the whispers of the
toy animals he gave you. It's the shuffling of
feet walking away from you, the sound of your
soul shattering into a million pieces at
recognizing the word "goodbye," it's the
soundtrack of memories torturing you, it's the
sound of feeble hands trying to push back the
obstinate hands of time, it's the sound of a
cherub's dying breath, the sound of all those
years disappearing in the vortex of Cupid's
kitchen sink, it's the unrelenting, plaintive
baby meows of an abandoned kitten outside an
ignoring door. It's the sound of the rain that
doesn't ever stop, the sound of all the doors in
the world shutting and closing in your face at
the same time, of raging, howling storms in the
night when there's no one there to hold you, the
sound of your voice as it screams back at you,
the echo of "I love you" burning holes in you,
the sound your heart makes as it tells you to
lie still because nothing you will ever do will
matter without love. The sound of the waves at
the polluted beach you went to as it moves from
the shore and crashes inside your mind, of the
sniffles that make up your pathetic "SOS-to-the-
world," the cracking of the brittle black-red
petals from the sidewalk vendor roses he gave,
the sound of the music he used to make going to
your gut. The sound of things in your room being
thrown around and landing on the floor, the
caress of sharpened kitchen knives on skin, the
sound your throat makes as you swallow your
saltiest tear. It's the sound of your own voice
calling out to someone who isn't there, of
winged creatures dying and falling on a city
pavement, of terms of endearment used a hundred
times a day struggling to crawl into a vacuum of
forgetfulness, it's the sound of your own sobs
keeping you company, it's the cold, uncaring
stillness of the air you share your space with.

Destruction isn't always as noisy as bombs
exploding. Sometimes the ultimate catastrophes
are as quiet as a feather falling on the floor
of a Zen monastery.

No one else can really hear your heart breaking
except you.

h:

 

:eek3:

 

too long

 

stop spying on me

 

.