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If I Was Deaf, I May As Well Be Dead

The distant sound of the midnight train hooting at the other end of town.
The organ bellowing hymns at Sunday church.
The soft click-clacking as I type on my MacBook.
The harmony of all the birds singing outside my window in the morning.
The cool spring breeze rustling the trees’ leaves as I walk down my street barefoot.
The slapping of my hands as they hit the wooden floor in the gym as I cartwheel.
The chirping of the cricket on the windowsill of the school Mechanics Workroom.
The jingling of my bracelets as they cascade with the movements of my arms.
The crackling of the fireplace after a long winter day.
The flipping of pages in my latest book.
The crinkling of leaves and snapping of twigs as deer graze in my backyard.
The soft tick-tock of the custom grandfather clock in my family room.
The sound of our breathing as we caress.
The rhythm of his heartbeat as I rest my head on his chest.
The whispered words, “I love you,” as they escape from his mouth to my ears.

Those are my favorite sounds.
If I was deaf, I may as well be dead.




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