quiet.

it is all quiet now.
it used to be about the moment before a storm.
a moment before the quake.
a moment before death.

but as quiet as it is now,
i finally realise that this silence is a moment after a storm, after a quake, after a death,
when the dust settles.

things seem like they were happenstances.
but that is because they were quiet.
and i did not want to listen to them.
i failed to accept them.

so...

i don't expect anything.
only yesterday i was different.
only today i am going to be different.
only tomorrow will I be different.
but some things don't change. they just disappear into silences.

the faces come and go. a flash of quiet intensity.

when I leave, I leave as quiet as I leave as I am quiet
as words flow into a dissipation...
they heal.

i don't say much do i but the feeling i get sometimes is that i say too much like flowing words that go on and on and i do not know when to stop so why can't i now embrace quietness to feel my way to a new state of tranquility?

i don't expect anything.

i walk down this long hotel corridor.
they all look the same, really.
the velvet carpet and the hanging electrical candles that flicker occasionally.
but it glows with an amber conformity.
the doors are redwood with 4 digits
every step i make is softened by the surface below me
i walk the quiet steps.
it doesn't matter where I'm heading.
the walls along the corridor are a soft and warm brown.

I turn a corner.

leaving this thing called 'love'.
But i do believe, it wasn't a construct.

i'll find a way, i'll see her again, someday.
Again.
i don't expect anything.
really, you can't don't expect anything. so...don't repeat those words.

i shall walk down the stairs at the end of the corridor. quietly.
and remain a familiar enigma.

maybe that is the best I can be, someone always misunderstood, always removed, always dishonest,
always Be;
and not allowed to be consistently fluid.

so i'll find a way.
to see you and myself again.

"ok."

it is so quiet, it hurts.