I can hear it everywhere, its in the living room, its in the bedrooms, its wherever I am and its even there when I am not. The silence.
The silence in my house is not lonely it has me for company. It has me to listen to it, as it invades my life. It sits in the shadows when someone visits, then it leaps out and rejoices when they have gone and it can regain its hold on my house.
I play the radio. But, the silence doesn’t like that, it makes the radio crackle, and I lose my temper and switch off the radio.
I sing. My singing is not good I find I prefer the silence – which makes it laugh.
We have been together for quite some time, the silence and I. It was with me when I moved into my house. It looked around, stretched itself throughout the house, and made itself at home.
I break the silence by talking to myself, but the silence does not like that, and makes me think I shouldn’t talk to myself when there’s only me there.
I break the silence by opening the window to let other sounds in, I can hear them, I can smell them as the petrol guzzling cars sweep past my window. The silence does not like it, and shrinks to hide in the far corners of my house. I freeze, until I can stand the cold open window no more and close it.
The silence laughs and returns to envelop me. I can almost taste it, and it takes over from the noises that are the rest of my life.
It is sitting now waiting, waiting for me to stop the tap, tap, tap of the computer keyboard, the buzz of the tower, the hum of the central heating.
Maybe I should wrap it up and give it away. Give it to the first person I hear who declares "I never get a moments peace."
