― David Levithan, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
Sometimes, silence is lovely. The quiet of sitting together under the trees and the stars, with naught but an occasional rustle of leaves or crackle from the campfire interjecting occasionally into the unspoken conversation. Or the quiet of working alone in the kitchen, as the clouds creep in and the smallest patter of raindrops mingles with the scent of cookies in the oven. Or the mountaintop, with just the wind whispering.
Other times, silence is arduous. The gap in socially-required small talk when one does not know what next topic to introduce. Or the hesitation in a sentence when there is a hitch in one's voice, and one must wait to compose oneself. Or the pause after one gingerly reveals one's worries or fears or sadness, and then waits, hoping that the listener will deliver a word of consolation to ease the heartache.
There are times that without assistance from another, only the silence speaks -- yet we do not know what the silence says. And as the silence speaks longer, it begins to shout, and we want to cover our ears and run away, because it is unbearable even (and especially) when we do not understand what it is saying.
Speak to us gently, Silence, so that we may comprehend.
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