The Sisters Silence and Noise
Silence is deafening sometimes. People often like to sit with Silence. They find her peaceful and gentle, a place for them to rest. People are funny like that. They beg for Silence and equate her to peace, seeing them as the same. I disagree, Silence is not peaceful, she is not safe, she is not someone I ever beg for nor is she ever gentle.
The College Way
A few drinks in, a party starts And ends with the breaking of several hearts So many words there are to say Because this is the college way!
She is My Home
Home. My body stiffens and my heart races at the mention of this word. My breathing becomes quickened and my mind races as I try to rationalize what this means. When people say home, they often mean the place where you grew up, your childhood home. That home is the terrified cries of my little sister ringing out in the night, the purpling of bruises on my body, the screams of my brother and I into the silence of the woods.
A House, Not a Home
Silence is deafening. I listened to the quiet, snuggled under my covers, ignoring the sweat dripping down my body. The soft breaths of my little sister above me came out of her like a wisp of air in her sleep as she slept deeply although not peacefully. I reached up to the base boards of her bed, lightly running my fingers along the wood so as not to get a splinter. The hum of the fridge in the kitchen was deafening, it hurt my ears in the silence of the house.