Only Silence Remains.

I don’t say a word. I don’t even know the words to say if I had the guts to make a sound. Being quiet is always a lot easier than allowing noises to slip from your lips. Most people are able to let words fall easily from their mouth, fly through the air and to the floor where they crumble and disintegrate. And mean nothing at all.

But not me.

He wore black t-shirts that matched his hair. I noticed, but I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t feel I needed to, even if there was no one to tell. He got coffee while I got nothing but the warmth inside the café. No one knew, they only assumed with threatening gossip and empty accusations.

But that was okay. We didn’t mind.

The scars healed up too nice for anyone to notice so I don’t know how he ever figured it out. They gave me Vitamin E, figured that it would seal up all my wounds with no traces of the nightmare. I tried to decline, but the words wouldn’t come out. I’ve never hurt worse in my life, and I wish I had the scars, something to remind me that it wasn’t all in my head. That it was in fact real. Because sometimes my memory just wasn’t enough.

Sometimes he doesn’t talk, just sits there, examining me, listening to the words that have never fallen from my lips. After our first week he finally came to terms with it:

I won’t talk.

But instead of making me utter any sort of sound, he only embraced it. He gave me what I needed: someone to talk and someone to listen. I was glad he could do both and it seemed enough that I could only do one.

When he talked to me it was usually when he was overcome with emotion. And it was usually about his brother. It made me feel funny because I never knew what it’d be like. And when he talked about his family it made my heart beat fast with jealousy. But he didn’t know. He wouldn’t ask about mine and I never told.

He would ask me questions, but ones I could silently answer. He’d ask how I am or how my day was. Sometimes the questions were of my childhood innocence, and others were filled with so much meaning that I could never answer, not even inside my cave like mind.

Today he didn’t talk though, he brought his sketchpad, just like he did the day we first met. Something was wrong, and I felt that I shouldn’t be there. Somehow his space felt personal, and I was invading it. I stayed though, as he looked at me, to the window, to his sketchpad, and back again.

He scared me, making me jump, when his mouth opened and spilled out words before they could be stopped.

“What would you say… if you could talk to me? If you wanted to talk to me?” His eyes looked at me questioningly, requesting an answer. I almost thought he expected me to tell him before he sighed, took a sip of coffee, looked at me, to the window, to his sketchpad, and back again. I went over the question in my mind, hauntingly so. Did he think I didn’t want to talk? Because inside I was screaming. I don’t remember the exact day I stopped. It just felt so safe that I couldn’t let my own words hurt me. And now I feel like I have no choice but to let my silence become my only friend.

I’ve thought about the question before, and this was far from the first time. I even imagined what it’d be to open my mouth and let a gust of cool air enter as I prepare myself to talk. I’d probably tell him that I missed him when we were apart. And that I changed, that I’ll never, ever be the same again. But most of all I’d probably tell him four simple words, ones that feel sour in my mouth every time they unwantedly enter my brain and consume me like they often do.

You. Can’t. Fix. Me.

It was simple, and I wonder if he knew. But for now I’ll just look out the window with him until he tells me it’s time for him to go home and I’m left alone again. Sometimes I wonder when he’s going to give up and realize... No, just give up. He doesn’t need to realize what a hopeless case I am. But sometimes I want him to, I want someone to know about the demons that rip me up from the inner depths of my soul and all the way out until it hurts too much to walk, to open my eyes, but mostly it just hurts me too much to talk.