We Leave The Sound On 'Cause Silence Is Harder

I like silence, there’s something magical about it, strangely, horribly, mangled. When you’re in a room with no sound. Nothing. Your brain starts to make up sounds, tries to give you something to focus on, but you can’t, ‘cause it’s not really there. Silence is hard, silence is beautiful, silence is the most monstrous thing in the solar system. There’s so much of it, start in your house; the door is closed, there’s no music, no people outside, no talking. Further afield, the woods for instance, you can just stand and listen, but there’s nothing to hear, maybe the odd crack of a branch by a bird far off in the distance, the snap that shoots through your body, shocking it back to reality, to where you physically are, because mentally, you’re miles away, somewhere up in space. Floating. No one’s there, no one talks to you, no one talks about you. There’s only you and these lights, beautiful massive firey balls of light, reflecting colours of red and blue and yellows. The beautiful colours that make up this existence of ours, they’re just ever so slightly more astounding in the silence. One day they’re all going to implode on each other, sucking each other in, ripping the universe apart. Will that be silent? Or will it be obstreperous? A noise so loud it rips apart worlds. Will it happen in a second, or over an infinite amount of time. Will it be like a momentary snatch in the air at a fly, or a plate smashing onto the floor, obliterating into a thousand shards. I guess we’ll never know.