Silence heals.

It fills in the gaps, pours itself on the wounds and cracks and settles within the creases so that nothing else can make it worse. Silence lets time settle in, and allows time to make itself comfortable once again, and to set things on its course again. Silence sits between two people, and let’s fingers and palms say what needs to be said. Silence weighs down the air between a disobedient child and his mother. It plays with the final miliseconds that an athlete has left to conquer his worst fears. Sometimes silence is so thick that you can cut it with a knife, and hide it in your clenched palm. It allows the minds of people to wander off in search of sound or dreams. Silence invites the crickets to sing at midnight, and only gets disturbed by the flutter of soft wings of moths and fire flies.

Silence also says a lot.

Silence, much like the one that fills the space between you and I, says without words, without sound, without any audible gesture, that the worst is over. And that everything will be alright.

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