It's the silence that stings.
After everyone's gone, the music's stopped and the drinks have stopped flowing.
It's the silence that's difficult to bear.
She goes over the stories of the evening trying to find a place in them. She can't. She lets it go.
She looks over the kitchen, the leftovers, the half eaten plates, the half empty glasses and the dishes in the sink. Those dishes. Her heart sinks.
Maybe later.
The evening feels distant now. Still lonely, she lets out a sigh. Maybe call a smaller group next time? She wishes she had spent a quiet evening by herself. At least they had a good time. She looks over the spoils of the evening - cushions askew on the sofa, ash trays on the floor and candles flickering on their last tiny bit of wick.
A sweet concoction of perfume lingers in the room. She finds comfort in it. But it doesn't last long. The silence is overwhelming. It comes stinging back like a bee.
She decides to take a quick walk.
It's pitch dark and frigid. She pulls her jacket tighter and starts down the lane. There's not a speck of light. The houses make foreboding silhouettes against the dark sky. She wonders who the inhabitants are, what their stories are.
Everyone has one.
A couple blocks down she notices a tiny room on the lower level of a big house light by a lamp. A man bent over his desk hard at work. The room is quite stark. A wall painting and a couple of empty shelves. She wonders who the man is; wonders what his story is.
Thoughts start crowding her mind. She wonders how she got to where she is. Not that she ever had it all. But she feels worse off now than when she started.
So many battles to win, demons to slay, wounds to heal and miles to go. Day after day, week after week. Will it ever get easy?
Her toes start to feel the cold despite the thick boots. She walks till the end of the lane and quickens her pace to head back home. The wind's picked up. It sure is chilly.
She gets closer to the house of the tiny room. This time there's no light. She notices a man standing on the driveway. A long dark cloak flutters lightly around him. His face hidden deep within the hood. Curls of smoke rise up into oblivion from it. She wonders if it's the man from the tiny room. He watches her, a dark looming figure, as she passes by the driveway. She sees no arms, no face. It's all blended in the darkness of the night. His face, a hollow abyss.
'A few close people is better company than a large crowd with little in common.' His voice cuts through the air like a knife.
She gives a start. How did he know?
She jiggles the key in the door frantic to get in.
The candle are out. The house in darkness. She turns on the light. Home, a familiar place. This time the disarray provides her comfort. The dishes piled up in the sink don't feel as daunting and the silence is welcoming. She sits on the sofa to catch her breath.
So lonely. The evening's left her feeling more despondent.
She looks about her and sees a paper on the center table and turns it over.
On it, someone's scribbled, 'Silence is eloquence.'
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. Next time, a quiet evening.
After everyone's gone, the music's stopped and the drinks have stopped flowing.
It's the silence that's difficult to bear.
She goes over the stories of the evening trying to find a place in them. She can't. She lets it go.
She looks over the kitchen, the leftovers, the half eaten plates, the half empty glasses and the dishes in the sink. Those dishes. Her heart sinks.
Maybe later.
The evening feels distant now. Still lonely, she lets out a sigh. Maybe call a smaller group next time? She wishes she had spent a quiet evening by herself. At least they had a good time. She looks over the spoils of the evening - cushions askew on the sofa, ash trays on the floor and candles flickering on their last tiny bit of wick.
A sweet concoction of perfume lingers in the room. She finds comfort in it. But it doesn't last long. The silence is overwhelming. It comes stinging back like a bee.
She decides to take a quick walk.
It's pitch dark and frigid. She pulls her jacket tighter and starts down the lane. There's not a speck of light. The houses make foreboding silhouettes against the dark sky. She wonders who the inhabitants are, what their stories are.
Everyone has one.
A couple blocks down she notices a tiny room on the lower level of a big house light by a lamp. A man bent over his desk hard at work. The room is quite stark. A wall painting and a couple of empty shelves. She wonders who the man is; wonders what his story is.
Thoughts start crowding her mind. She wonders how she got to where she is. Not that she ever had it all. But she feels worse off now than when she started.
So many battles to win, demons to slay, wounds to heal and miles to go. Day after day, week after week. Will it ever get easy?
Her toes start to feel the cold despite the thick boots. She walks till the end of the lane and quickens her pace to head back home. The wind's picked up. It sure is chilly.
She gets closer to the house of the tiny room. This time there's no light. She notices a man standing on the driveway. A long dark cloak flutters lightly around him. His face hidden deep within the hood. Curls of smoke rise up into oblivion from it. She wonders if it's the man from the tiny room. He watches her, a dark looming figure, as she passes by the driveway. She sees no arms, no face. It's all blended in the darkness of the night. His face, a hollow abyss.
'A few close people is better company than a large crowd with little in common.' His voice cuts through the air like a knife.
She gives a start. How did he know?
She jiggles the key in the door frantic to get in.
The candle are out. The house in darkness. She turns on the light. Home, a familiar place. This time the disarray provides her comfort. The dishes piled up in the sink don't feel as daunting and the silence is welcoming. She sits on the sofa to catch her breath.
So lonely. The evening's left her feeling more despondent.
She looks about her and sees a paper on the center table and turns it over.
On it, someone's scribbled, 'Silence is eloquence.'
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. Next time, a quiet evening.
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