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