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People often remark,
"I never liked the quiet."

It's a deafening silence that wanders the minds of the damned.
An eerie static crafted by rusted irons and crooked nails.
Repetitive and uncomforting.

I agree.

People often believe,
"The quiet poisons the weak."

The lull of empty skies with evanescent sunrise at the horizon.
A hum of an abandoned child robbed of its mother.
Fragile and withered.

I agree.

People often mistake,
"Nothing good is made out of silence."

Words trapped in the bubble of chained tongues and stuttering jargons.
Faults clawed into her skin while she suffocates in quicksand.
Forgotten and renounced.

I agree.

But,
the quiet,
is my friend.

Today,
Tomorrow,
and the next.

It will remain,
seated in the empty space,
waiting for my return.

And the world isn't so cold anymore.

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