The Noise in the Silence

There’s a bench in the park that’s keeping all of my secrets

On it lies the things I have seen with my ears and the things I have heard with my eyes

On that bench I watch things

Most days I watch humans

I watch them pass and disappear into the distance

Every now and then a few will stop a few feet away to chat. Completely oblivious to the thieving eye that little by little chops away at their secrets

The slight sweep of hair behind her ear. Her chuckle

His darkened pupils announcing a change in the atmosphere that even his own lashes haven’t yet caught on

Will it rain today?

The furrowed brows of the angry mother dragging her screaming offspring to safety

The blissful trees whistling tunes of an early spring

Every now and then I hear the school bell ring, announcing the end and beginning of an era

If you were with me you would have heard the subtle evening wind whisper something to the newly tarred road only to have the dust run off in fear

I saw the little girl twitch slightly in discomfort as her pot-bellied companion hovered over her tiny frail frame

She had turned and looked at me with the most piercing set of eyes I’ve had the misfortune of meeting

In them, I saw a coward

But it was neither her face nor that of a stranger

In one woman’s tears I saw fear and in her lover’s eyes, I saw something everlasting. How could she not see the words she was dying to hear him say written all over his body?

If you were with me you would have seen how the old lady jumped to avoid crossing paths with the black cat that suddenly ran across the road. If she could have eight more lives, she would have stared the cat right in its gloomy eyes and drunk from its blood

There was so much noise.

All chaos

It was made of the things that ought to be said but are never said. Profound experiences whose value can only be retained by their state of privacy.

In their silence

I have seen the desire in the eyes of the one whose lips know not the words to the tune playing in their heart.

The subtle smiles and the hidden touches. How can anyone not hear all this noise in the silence?

On this bench of mine, I sit, yet AGAIN.

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