In defense of wordlessness

It’s like waking up one morning to find that you’ve been talking non-stop for years and that your mind’s wordcount have somehow reached a proverbial quota of sorts, like your brain has a bandwidth limit you didn’t know you’ve already exceeded before you even became aware that it ever existed in the first place. It’s like being handed an invitation to a holiday in celebration of things that we never have to apologize for.

Silence is a long and languid vacation; a solitary trip I have allowed myself to indulge on. I let the days pass me by like chapters. I measure time not by calendar but by stories, and simply shrugged my shoulders to momentarily decline the seemingly constant burden of needing to archive my exclamations each time I say goodbye to a book.  For a while, I can just read and read and not have to pause to scrutinize or sigh. And oh blissful abandon, how the weeks have flown by like the quietest whirlwind I have ever known.

We all gotta disappear sometimes, at least once in our lives and yet: some departures are not forever.

I’m back, thank you so much for still being here.

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