Shadows of Silence

The shifting light talked stories of unspoken fights, and the room was drowned in an evident loneliness. That was the time when dusk would prance into twilight a quarter of an hour before supper, making shadow stripes in the windows.

Seated against the final rays of sunshine, she wanted to continue sitting; she was in a state of peace and full awareness of the beauty of the initial darkness.

A rush of impulses spurred her to turn on the lights, but she found herself murmuring in the realm of twilight. This silence brought a sense of consecration and seclusion that only allowed me to mull over things.

Tales of each shade were raveled with a thread of suppressed cries and memories, of forgotten footsteps and left words.

A glance at his La-Z-Boy was enough to set off the remembrance of bitter moments when his distracted sighs warned of those fleeting seconds before anger took over. A tiny bit of her guts whispered to her, filling in the gap, attaching a passionate kiss on his fatigued cheek and inquiring him about his loneliness.

However, this burnt-out left a painful feeling on her shoulders, fatigue from numerous attempts to make up the torn threadiness of the relationship.

The gloom that laid over their suburb in mid-October held an unrelenting strain that was not seen in prior seasons.

The argument which was the origin, too shaky to remember, had covered their house in a stony silence. Every creak called out and asked if the silence was just a veil of unresolved tensions and non-existing peace.

Even though she knew that it was high time for her to extend an olive branch and apologize to him as a gesture of humanity towards his recently-aggravated wounded pride after various rounds of layoff. However, a ray of her soul glimmered beside her, whispering the silences in her ears with an audible volume that she needed even more.

When the dusk of the day had arrived, she realized that her lethargic state had served as a loud exclamation, yet the words were not so efficient in expressing the same feelings. They seem to be the whispers of an unspoken wish of his, a climax of terror echoing through their loss of contact.

The rusty creaks of the rocking chair echoed across the silent mourning lamenting audience. A hopeless dance occurred in his mind between grudges and self-pity while he was unable to overcome his own shortcomings of looking at them, in other words.

Fear to say 'sorry', and guilt over former errors would have come and gone, but missed opportunities for the past prevented Mr. X from moving.

The grandfather lamp, a clumsy travail smiling at its master, proud and serious, in the corner of the room, inherited from her grandmother carefully for generations. By giving the author's childhood the status of a golden age which her present could not compare to, she makes a strong symbolism of their disrupted relationship, which is sadly the harsh reality in this new reality.

In the rhythm of her slender fingers moving with solemnity, the veil of darkness that sheltered them began to fade away allowing the fierce light to epic his foot and exploit those of the flaws between them.

Amid that pivotal instant of an overwhelming light, the suspension they were on, perched before contemplation, snapped, bringing me right back to the physical reality all over again. She seemed like the centerpiece of the painting in her ghostly presence in front of the lamp, as her practically un-spoken emotions were pulling the atmosphere apart, the air of recognition elusive so far.

He was lost for a moment then, taken over by an inexpiable serenity only to be outplayed by words that he could see but not articulate, a crescendo of emotions moving in everlasting circles and unable to find his own.

There was this daze that seemed to take hold of my mind in that instant when two opposites melded into one sending our thoughts just flying around aimlessly. She waited for a sorry that never will, be said while he was still trying to walk the insecurities that were too strong to speak.

A heavy feeling with eyes full of tears, she took a step away that marked a distance between them. A silence of his was speaking much more than the words would ever do, contextualizing the worst fears about an emotional detachment.

Just there and they were two chairs away from each other, almost like two heavenly galaxies that are constantly moving further and further apart implying that no one can get close to the other nor express his inner feelings.

In the darkness of their silence’s shadow, they tried to find how to get away from the maze of their complicated relationship, and every step they did was a tribute to the power of love and the responsibility of the unsaid words.