It is silent in my house. The thoughts I entertain are like good house guests, they come in and leave. They do not stay and make a show. The word passion has been extinguished like an idea that has come to soon. I am only writing because it has been too long since I have done any real writing, I guess this doesn’t count either.
This is the silence that those who meditate long for. I hate it. I miss the chatter, I miss the thoughts bubbling up. I miss the action. But I feel deflated, knowing that there is something magical happening and I can’t see it.
In an hour it will be a madhouse.
But for now, I will sit with ghosts.
For now, I will sit with the quiet, enjoy coffee and time as it was meant to be enjoyed at my leisure. In an hour I will let the world fart in my general direction.