When Silence Speak
Finding voice in stillness...
I sit with the pen in my hand and my eyes on my notebook... The page staring back at me, empty yet full of possibilities, waiting for the first word to break the silence. But no matter how close I get to start writing the first sentence, my brain keeps feeling empty and emptier. It’s as if all the thoughts inside of me are trapped behind a foggy glass, visible but unreachable.
So I leave the pen and put my head on the desk, feeling hopeless. The quiet hum of the room grows louder, and for a moment, I wonder if giving up is easier than trying. Tear sinks into the paper, leaving behind a small mark, as if my sadness found a way to write itself when I couldn’t.
I stare at the stain, wondering if maybe the truest stories are written without words at all. A heaviness settles in my chest, but beneath it, a quiet voice whispers that even silence has meaning. So I shut my notebook, deciding not to rush myself, and choose to let it be instead of forcing words that aren’t ready to come. I lean back in my chair, letting the stillness wrap around me, hoping that tomorrow, the words will find their way on their own.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, feeling the weight on my shoulders ease. The room is silent, but it no longer feels heavy, it feels like a pause, a gentle promise that I will return to the page when I am ready. And so I allow myself to simply be, trusting that my thoughts and feelings will find their own way into words, in their own time. With that, I rise from my chair, carrying a quiet hope in my chest, knowing that even unfinished stories hold a piece of who I am.
[Hoorie]