Dying embers

Oh silence! Hello, my dear old friend! It has been too long. You and I, alone and apart, together; scuffling over permanent obscure questions, scratching at avaricious spaces and fiddling with time blindfolded. Still, after all this time, that stubborn stillness has never felt familiar. It is forever alien and unsettling. Yet, it holds a whiff of hope that one day, time will grant these tender, quivering embers, gasping for air, space to breathe... Because, despite practised pretence, they are not averse to some pampering and to being nourished. They yearn for the warmth of meaningful attention, the generosity of extra time, and the spontaneity of fortuitous conversations. Simply put, memories are sensitive, too. And although they can be obstreperous, They feel pain. If left unattended, they quickly become unmoored, and evaporate like thin mists in the raw glare of sunlight. Hence, silence must never be left alone, to itself, to ponder in silence. It matures much too hurriedly and scorches the earth beneath. It breeds uncertainty and fossilizes doubts to a point where, not even the sharp gaze of hope can wash away leftover tears especially when the long, ruinous tentacles of silence turn even old, cherished memories into amnesiacs.