Empty Air

The world seems too quite tonight

I find writing can only come with the commotion of the world, because that’s where ideas come from

Even the mere presence of another person in a home

It brings atmosphere and existence into a building

Without others there is no process, no thought, no existence

We are just in silence with nothing around to bring inspiration

Or maybe it’s the awaited silence that brings creativity

The change in atmosphere that gives emotion meaning

We are never who we think we are when placed in silence

We never realize how dependent we are on each other until there is no one

We need that loss of life to define our existence

To guide us towards our true thoughts of self worth

Why does the silence keep us awake while the world sleeps?

Do we truly find ourselves in the hollow, empty air?

Maybe I’ve always thought too much of silence

Or maybe I’ve just never wanted to dig that deep

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