Silence🥀

Silence is not peace. It’s an emptiness that hums a soundless sound that stretches itself thin across the walls of your mind. It sits there, patient and cold, waiting for you to notice it. Waiting for you to crumble into it.

It always starts small. A pause between songs, a moment before sleep, a breath too long. And then it grows. It starts to wrap around you invisible, deliberate. You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re just tired. But the truth is, you’re scared of it. Because you know what comes after the quiet. You’ve heard it before that faint echo inside you that sounds a lot like your own name.

Silence isn’t kind. It remembers things you don’t. It knows where you buried the pain, the guilt, the exhaustion that lives in your chest. It knows the truth behind your calm. And when everything else fades when laughter dies, when footsteps stop, when night settles silence is what’s left. It sits beside you like a shadow that breathes.

You try to fill it. You open your phone, scroll, hum, whisper something just to prove you’re still here. But it waits. It always waits. It watches every distraction collapse, one by one, until you’re left with nothing to hide behind. That’s when it starts to speak not in words, but in weight. You feel it pressing down, soft and slow, like hands made of air. It doesn’t hurt at first. But it gets heavier, and heavier, until it does.

And then you start to remember things you swore you forgot. The look on someone’s face when they turned away. The sound of your own voice breaking mid-sentence. The nights you didn’t cry because you were too tired to. Silence collects them all. It plays them back, without mercy, without volume. Just stillness. Just ache.

It’s strange how it feels like drowning in air. You can breathe, but it doesn’t reach. You can move, but it doesn’t matter. The walls don’t echo, they absorb. Every breath disappears before it exists. You start to wonder if you do too.

There’s no drama in it. No loud collapse. Just small things your thoughts slowing down, your chest tightening a little, your fingers twitching for noise that isn’t there. You realize how much you depend on sound on anything that reminds you you’re alive. But silence doesn’t care. It doesn’t want to hurt you. It just wants to show you that nothing else ever really stays.

So you sit in it. You stop fighting. You stop searching for distraction. You let it swallow you whole. And in that stillness, something inside begins to fade. The rush, the panic, even the fear. What’s left is the kind of emptiness that feels too calm the kind that makes you question whether you’ve accepted the quiet or become it.

You start to talk to yourself softly, just to break the air. But your voice sounds foreign, almost hollow. You wonder if you’re speaking out loud or just in your head. You wonder when the difference stopped mattering.

The silence gets colder. You can feel it inside your bones now, behind your ribs, under your tongue. It has a texture like fog, or glass. You want to scream, but even that would feel out of place. It would disturb the balance. So you don’t. You just stay still, breathing in the weight of your own thoughts, realizing how terrifying it is to have nowhere to hide within yourself.

And when tears come, they come quietly. No sobs, no shaking. Just wet eyes and shallow breaths. You don’t fight them. You just let them fall not out of sadness, but recognition. Because in that moment, you understand what silence really is. It’s not emptiness. It’s memory. It’s every version of you that tried to speak but never found words. It’s the echo of everything you didn’t say.

You sit there, long after it stops hurting, long after the tears dry. There’s no comfort in it, just a strange acceptance. You realize silence isn’t chasing you anymore you are the one standing still. It isn’t haunting you it’s holding you. It’s showing you what’s left when the noise dies, when the world forgets to ask how you are, when even your own thoughts grow tired.

And you know then, in that fragile stillness, that silence doesn’t end. It waits. It hums softly beneath everything beneath laughter, beneath chaos, beneath every “I’m fine.” It follows quietly, like breath, like shadow, like truth.

Because silence isn’t the absence of sound.

It’s the sound of you when there’s nothing left to say.

Xoxo❤️