whisper

If I could only say half of what I’m feeling. But I cannot. I do not possess such extraordinary abilities. No one does. A selected few are blessed with means of expressing, one way or another, the storms that occupy them.

More often than not, words choke in the throat. They die between silence and oblivion, left unspoken for so many others to bare. They flicker for a while, then vanish in the distance. Forgotten. Bestowed. Knelt down to a fortress of silence and solitude. Time takes it all.

And if we were to voice all our fears and torments, our own voice would have no say. What power could one voice carry against all quarrels of the soul? What ground? What stance? And what conviction? Monsters strive to survive, and live to kill again. Silence shouts.