In the silence, there is no silence. Silence is the hum of the fridge as you sit on your couch reading a book. It’s the whisper of the wind as it sweeps by the trees, rustling in the leaves. The scribble of your pencil on paper as you write your thoughts late in the evening. Silence is early mornings with singing birds and tired yawns, the scrape of a chair, clatter of cereal, and slosh of milk. Silence is everywhere but no where at all. Silence is the ringing in your ears and the beat of your heart. It’s the pitter patter of rain on the roof, and the creak of floorboards at midnight that make you freeze. The soft tap of feet on the ground as you walk, and the sniffle of your nose in the heavy cold. Silence is your distorted, gasping breaths as you cry in the night. It’s lonely and oppressive, freeing and welcome. In the silence you hear nothing and yet everything all the same.