I bring silence. This is my gift to all that I meet with.
Silence runs deep within me. Is part of my outfit the same as is of my walk. I think I’m invisible, until someone says my name or smiles at me.
I discovered from a young age that the need for connection is profound. The bond between people who pour their naked thoughts and feelings is beautiful, unique. One listens and the other one empties the bag of emotions, expressing life as he/ she feels it.
Often I’m the listener, and I love it. An intimate act of attendance. It gives me purpose, makes me wish to have a bit more control over my life, the way I act and how I choose friends.
But from time to time I feel that I am disappearing in slow motion, that the rug is not anymore under my feet, that I’m hurting from standing alone and after that… I fall.
In that time I wish for friends that can listen. Long after I found myself meeting that long desired friend, I can’t stop myself from pouring.
Until then, I have words… words that creep on tip of my tongue, stories of memories, events or just mundane thoughts that I need to release them verbally, are keep coming back to the back to my head. I storage them in drawers. I label them and continue life.
The emotional bag fills quickly and then I know what it needs to be done. Where is no one to listen, I write.
I write blue words with my favorite pen on paper, or I type on the laptop about what hurts my heart in exactly that moment. Or about how much I would love to do something new or old that can bring some sort of peace and happiness in me. Or the failures and steps back that I encounter daily.
I found that reading out loud the final paper acquires several sorts of pain relief. Exploring with a voice the intimacy of that act powers up my confidence. I am able to not seek answers or approvals, but only a little bit of support, which I get because I ask for it.