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Fear of Silence, Fear of Words

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Utterance is but an idea not to be thought out loud, as silence is the dominating force in this room. Such a texture in the air creates the feeling of frozen solitude. There are no words to warm me up.

Feet hit the floor and patter gently across the floor before I realize that they are my feet that have moved me towards her figure, but my mind is in gear and my thoughts are focused towards that which means the world to me. She sits there mimicking the cold fortress that surrounds her, silent and cold. Unspeaking, yet aware of my actions towards her solitude. A few seconds pass as I decide whether to disturb the silence further. But she means the world to me and I must attempt to save her from this silence.


My hand slides an empty chair away from the table so that I may sit next to her. Words become stuck in my throat, after all I’ve never spoken them before. And so I marvel at her beauty, watching her features as I decide upon my words. She is the world to me. My words must have the response I’m searching for otherwise this silence may crush her, suffocate her with her own mimicking.

My lips move slowly, and as never before words are spoken from my mouth. “Your problems are not your own. You have friends to carry them with you.” These words are spoken gently, nearly whispered.

She is not disturbed by the words, she is not surprised to have heard something outspoken. She simply mimics the room around her, being silent just as before. Obviously she has heard my words, and is ignoring my rebellion against the silence. Again I speak, she is the world to me. “He loves you!” Fear and desperation are in my voice making it rise above the whisper it so gently was. She knows of whom I speak but again she stays silent. She is my world. “He loves you without permission. He loves you as you are unable to understand, but still he loves you.”

Tears strike against my cheek. She is uncompromising, ignoring my truth with her silence. Still obeying the rules of this silent room she mimics its behavior. In perseverance I speak again; she is the world to me. “A single prayer could give life. A single prayer could give comfort. Could give love. Happiness. Joy. Wisdom. A single prayer could give all these things. What more is there, how wonderful does God have to be before you see the wonders?” Tears stream down my face. She is still relentless, obeying the silent room with her mimicking. Anxiety is overwhelming; her relentlessness is an arrow through my heart.

Slowly her head turns to face me. Face to face I again persevere and again I speak. “I love you. I love you as God would love you and as God wants you to feel loved. My heart screams for you to understand this love. Just to feel his love.”

My sobbing is uncontrollable as she has remained stone cold, mimicking the rules of this stone cold room. But I see a single tear gently roll down her cheek. And as I see her lips slowly start to move, I regain hope for this soul that I love so desperately. “He is not real, his love is but a fantasy, and your love is but a rebellion.” Her words are slow, and it’s as though she were a robot. Speaking not from herself.

My world is lost. She is my world. Slowly the stone cold room suffocates her with its silence. I stand up from my chair and lean over to gently kiss her upon the cheek and whisper into her ear a last hope for her eternity. “God loves you, as I love you the same.” I stand up slowly watching her features as she begins to cry.

And yet that robotic voice is unrelenting. “God is not real.” With my hand upon her shoulder I watch as slowly the stone cold room suffocates her with its silence.

With a jolt I awake in my bed in a cold sweat. Utterance is but an idea not to be thought out loud as silence is the dominating force. Such a texture in the air creates the feeling of frozen solitude. There are no words to warm me up. My fear chains me to silence, suffocating my world. She is my world.





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