The Void

Author: Pia Pedersen

No clue where this came from. I’ve learned not to question my muse. She
gets cranky. *g*

--

I never felt more alone than when you were right beside me, and I never
knew sadness like I did when you told me not to cry.

There is no emptiness like the void created by too many words.

I can feel your presence as I walk through the deserted hallways. If I
stop, if I listen to the silence dwelling here, the whispers of your voice
will wash over me like a tidal wave. I can hear the them already, and I
run … I close my eyes and ears, and I run.

But I cannot hide.

There is a hopelessness in trying to escape something – or someone – when
you already know you will never succeed, when you know that whatever
you’re running from … whatever whispers you hear they resound from within
and are echoed from the depths of your heart and soul.

And that no matter how far you run the path will continue to lead you back
to where you came from.

As I find myself face to face with you again I acknowledge this fact with
painful clarity.

We stand on either side of the void – none of us daring to make the jump,
to take the first step towards some sort of resolution. There is a strange
comfort in maintaining the status quo, there is security in holding on to
what you have no matter how hollow is sometimes is.

I feel sadness, I feel emptiness, and I know the pain I see mirrored in
the deep blue of your eyes as they roam over my face, perhaps hoping to
see that which I have kept hidden even from you – especially from you.

But I am not ready yet. I’m not ready to tell you that the emptiness I
feel sitting beside you will never disappear until I – until we – find the
courage to reach out and look ahead, until the kindness in your words as
you dry away my tears is replaced by the love I know you nurture in
silence.

In the meantime, we will speak too much, too quickly, and try to cover up
how we really feel as we hide behind the safety of promises of never
ending friendship.

“Do your hear that?” you ask, drawing me back to the present; back to the
reality of the two of us at the metaphorical crossroads. ”Do you?”

There is an impatient air to your words, and I move my gaze away from your
face and listen.

There is nothing. Everything seems to be at a stand still, in fact, as if
the entire world has been paused in anticipation of the choice we are
forced to make.

All or nothing.

The words flash across my mind as I shake my head, my eyes once again
settling to take in your features, noting the gray in your hair, the clear
blue of your gaze – always watching, always wondering, it seems – and the
way your jaw is set tight in this moment, the way it always is when you’re
concentrated or frustrated.

“No,” I say, “there is nothing here. No sounds at all.”

“Mm.” You smile, surprisingly. Beautifully. I forget how incredibly it
changes you, and how much it impacts me. I have no choice but to return
it.
You smile too rarely. Perhaps we both do.

“Silence,” you go on, “simply silence.”

“Your point being?”

“My point,” you say, “is that maybe it’s time we stopped talking and
started listening.”

“Ah,” I’m startled, but I recover quickly. Only this time you seem
determined to not let me run. You gaze is nailing me to the ground, and
there is nowhere to turn. Nowhere to go. “That’s profound …”

“Sarcasm has never suited you,” you tell me, and I feel the rush of heat
to my face. It causes your smile to broaden slightly.

“Silence,” I mumble, not knowing where the words are coming from, “is
never just silence … is it?”

“No,” you agree, your eyes still on my face, “and I want to know what you
hear.”

If there is answer to that, then I don’t know what it is … so I say
nothing, and you take that fateful step forward.

The void is slowly closing.

Maybe I’m not ready, maybe none of us are.

There are no guarantees.

But it’s time to take a chance.

And it’s time to listen.

-end-