I am feeling a not so unfamiliar silence inside me after a very long time. The kind of silence which makes me want to not want anything at all. The silence that needs nothing to be needed. A sudden depth, a void of complete incessant lavish darkness. The kind that needs no one to stay.
I know it’s temporary, though I importune it to stay. It’s probably the repercussion of the reflection of my day. But I don’t want the disinterest, the oblivion and the simmering coldness to set with the sun. The pleasing sounds have become yammerings, yet every shackled fibre of me is discreetly absorbing the sordid inanimate moisture which has strangely astounded my own demented self.
Nothing seems enough. All frays feel futile withal the cause. Everything’s superfluous yet not fulfilling.
I want this influential silence to never break. The void to never end. The pain to never reiterate. The oblivion to never pale.