Challenges.
And I get it, I do. But, oh, I really don't.
Then this:
There was once a sound so achingly loud that all the people of the known world had to develop a system to protect themselves from it. Scientists and biologists and geologists and architects were all called upon to aid in what was destroying the world as they knew it. Eventually, devices were proposed, constructed, and inserted into the ears of every living domesticated creature. At last, the noise stopped. There was silence. The Sound had been so violent that this silence was welcomed and considered blissful. Like music. The silence was a new kind of music. Scientists wrote extravagant papers and lectured about developing a new frequency to combat The Sound.
They say it's why a newborn cries.
They say it's something in human, or maybe it's animal, nature. Something that makes us scream right back at The Sound.
Every now and then, I think my device - the collection of everything I've been told through the years - I think it breaks.
And I hear The Sound.
And it aches.
And I just want to scream.
But, the device is switched back on.
Temporary repairs. And I remember not to scream. Because no one else can hear it. The Sound. The so loud sound.
Maybe you hear it?
And:
I've started and finished one of the first books I've read in a long time. Too long. It was The Sound. It's what I heard. It's what heard me. Maybe I'm begging him to be the one that stills me. Yes, that's it. But, the thing is - I know he can't. I know. Maybe that's why I ask him.
Then this:
There was once a sound so achingly loud that all the people of the known world had to develop a system to protect themselves from it. Scientists and biologists and geologists and architects were all called upon to aid in what was destroying the world as they knew it. Eventually, devices were proposed, constructed, and inserted into the ears of every living domesticated creature. At last, the noise stopped. There was silence. The Sound had been so violent that this silence was welcomed and considered blissful. Like music. The silence was a new kind of music. Scientists wrote extravagant papers and lectured about developing a new frequency to combat The Sound.
They say it's why a newborn cries.
They say it's something in human, or maybe it's animal, nature. Something that makes us scream right back at The Sound.
Every now and then, I think my device - the collection of everything I've been told through the years - I think it breaks.
And I hear The Sound.
And it aches.
And I just want to scream.
But, the device is switched back on.
Temporary repairs. And I remember not to scream. Because no one else can hear it. The Sound. The so loud sound.
Maybe you hear it?
And:
I've started and finished one of the first books I've read in a long time. Too long. It was The Sound. It's what I heard. It's what heard me. Maybe I'm begging him to be the one that stills me. Yes, that's it. But, the thing is - I know he can't. I know. Maybe that's why I ask him.
