It's quiet just the way she likes it. Just the way she is. Silent.
No one notices. No one bothers about her.
If she is mute, no one cares. If she is traumatized, no one cares.
So she moves along. Being her quiet self.
She embraces it. The silence. She loves it. She finds solace in it.
Nothing in the world can penetrate her thick walls of silence.
As she sits in a corner of an empty room; legs scrunched up together to her chest with white bare walls surrounding her, no furniture of any kind, sound proof glass to prevent the screams of the outside world from getting to her.
She welcomes it.
With eyes closed and head resting on the wall looking up, she wonders; Will anything break her? Anyone?
But it might just be too late or maybe not.
The surreal pleasure she derives from the hush environment puts a smile on her face because to her no one can say harsh words as she can't hear them.
She has adopted the habit of muting her environment. Muting the world. She wouldn't want to get rid of such power.
It helps. The silence helps. Her whist nature has taken over.
No one will disturb.
No one will bother.
After all, she is Silent. SHE IS SILENCE.
♣•♠•♥•♦•♣•♠•♥•♦
Poet's Note:
All you have to do is...
Just stop and breathe.
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