Say hello to someone quiet, and watch their eyes flicker at the two syllables. I suppose I’m quiet because I’ve never really understood the point of making more noise than is strictly necessary. But I never tell people what I feel, when I feel it. I let it sit and grow and pool through me. I let it feed on me and then I watch them live and die and live again in other people’s problems. I am quiet because I don’t want to be pulled in. I don’t want to be too happy because that stuff is made of sugar. No one will believe you.
Sometimes I close my ears and fill the small cubed inches inside my skull with all of the music that I can possibly dissolve. I wake up in the morning with the imprints of pillow folds on my cheek, my dark hair tangled like a lioness. My voice needs some tea to warm it into consciousness. Until then, there are no words. I don’t know how to tell people what I really mean. But perhaps there is solace in silence, some strong refuge.