Silence.

Why is he always screaming? Even in quietude, even in solitude, even in perceived beatitude. In vain, I have tried to quiet his soul, his mind. In the gleaming vastness of possibility, I ask myself why. Why is peace unattainable? Is he simply hard of hearing? Impossible. Even the slightest flutter of a bird outside the window is enough to wake him from profound slumber. Is he filled with an immutable rage so insupportable that reticence cannot quell? No, I have seen the laughter in his eyes on good days. I ask myself why, because it is important. Because I need to know. To silence my own rage.

These days, I think I have finally figured it out...


He thinks we hear the gunshots too.

"It's like forgetting

the words
to your favorite song.
You can't believe it,
you were always singing along."