Three Years

It has been three years since I stopped writing.

So why start today?

Well, it has also been three years since I felt this trapped.

And it has been perhaps a lot more than three years since something has filled me with so much rage.

Skin searing, artery bursting, blackout causing rage.

This rage is trapped within me.

Straight jacketed by my own devices.

My entire being tingles as the rage tries to find its way out.

My head throbs and eyes burn each time this rage fails to escape.

Suddenly I smile.

Because I realise that I can actually feel it.

I can feel this emotion so strongly, even if it is rage.

I am not numb.

I am not disconnected.

I can still feel with the same intensity as before.

Somewhere within me is the person I was three years ago.

She can still feel and she she still wants to write.

And three years later, she finally writes.

The more she writes, the more the rage ebbs, the stronger I feel it.

The stronger I feel the urge to write.

And soon I shall.

Return

Silence.

Quite uncanny.

At first I could hear the traffic outside.

My laptop fan whirring softly.

The tap running in the kitchen.

But the most conspicuous of them all was the silence.

The silence grew steadily louder.

Until it began to scream and shout and ensure that I heard nothing beyond silence.

It blocked out everything else and engulfed me in itself.

And all I was left with was silence.

Silence is a funny thing, it is the noise when there is none.

Silence forces you to listen, when there is actually nothing to hear.

The deafening sound of nothing, reverberates in your skin.

Stripping you of your will, while filling your soul with the cacophony of nothing.

It compels you face yourself, and takes you to places once forgotten.

It is this same uncanny silence which has forced me to return.

And here I am.