I steal the silence.

The air is crisp tonight, and my lungs expand noiselessly between breaths; I feel them brush against my rib cage in soft caresses. In, out. My chest hums with a certain happiness, a broken quiet. Slowly, I bury my toes into the soil and I feel them thrum below the earth. The roots of the trees send signals across my feet, primitive neurons climbing up my ankles.

The lamp swells in a vacuum of voices, and I swallow it up, absorb it in my pores. I close my eyes and listen.

The silence is a voice of its own.

 

 

Written by Hannah Butcher

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