I am waiting for you in the silence.
I listen for you: for your breathing, or the sound of you sipping your coffee, or the tapping of the keys on your phone.
But I hear nothing.
I try to silence my own head. My thoughts are talking at me. So many of them storming around my brain that it is only when I actually focus on the outside, I can hear that you are still silent.
I hear my own voice, telling itself to keep quiet. I don’t know what is going to happen. I don’t know when. It could be this. It might be that. Thoughts of the last time. Suggestions for the next time. Continually pushing back the questions and maybes and scenarios. Searching for silence.
I hear the thoughts stemming from images, shoving to the fore as possible situations unfold. They try to distract me and pull me in. I fight them. I shove them away.
I hear the words that wonder about how I will be, whether I will please, whether I will be able to do this. I hear the taunts and the things that give a voice to my insecurities and fears.
I shout out then, telling them to stop, to give me a break.
I hear the sound of my breathing as I fight to let go and embrace my own silence. I focus on it. Breathing in. Breathing out.
I calm myself and clear myself, pushing all noise away.
Finally, I am silent. There is silence. Behind my closed eyes it is only white and I fall into the rhythm of my breath.
Then, from our shared silence, I hear your voice.
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