Can you hear it?

Silence.

Silence.

It's all that anyone ever hears. But is it really heard? It seems Mother Nature took a vacation from bringing everything to life, because right now nothing seems to be living.

The sun began to set on the fourth day without you, when I realized that it held so much more beauty when you were here, because I only ever saw its reflection in your eyes. You would always say, "Look how beautiful God's blessings are!" I wasn't very religious, but every time I would reply, "Yeah, it's a blessing!" Yet I was never looking at the sun. I was looking at you.

Silence.

It's all I heard from my friends. It's all my friends ever heard from me. But is it really heard? You were always the one to break the silence and brighten up the room. It was like lighting a match in the harshest of storms. And as the sun rose on the fifth day without you, we all looked up and said, "Look how beautiful God's blessing are!" Yet no one was talking about the sun.

The rose, you planted in the garden, bloomed on the tenth day without you. It was as red as your favorite shirt. As red as the red light that that drunk ran. As red as his Mercedes that had one scratch. As red as the blood that I watched seep from your body. As red as the walls of the hospital waiting room that held my pleas to God.

The rose wilted on the fifteenth day without you. It was as black as your new converse. As black as your 2006 Corolla. As black as my soul the day we buried you. I replanted that rose four times but it never seemed to grow back quite as red or wilt quite as black. My soul on the other hand grew blacker. Your favorite red shirt grew redder. The toe of your new converse grew blacker with scuffs from that night.

Silence.

It's all my family hears. But is it really heard? They try and get me to talk but it never does any good. Family. That's what you are, I mean were. Family. You were one of us. Now you're gone and I can't stand this silence.

Silence.

Is it really heard?