When I woke that first morning I cannot remember anything other than silence. A silence so vast there was no sound at all. Not even my own heart beating. As though all life had ceased. I think back and that is it. That is all. Nothing was all. Nothing was everywhere. And the pain. The pain came through again. Gone gone gone. And the silence. Silence and gone and pain.
Each day I read from the outside. A place of noise and life. A place where others who live write about those who don’t. Some deaths don’t even merit writing. So much vast silence will never merit writing.
Had anyone wished to write about the first silence that first morning …
I would have lashed back at the pushing in.
There is always an inside and outside. One is silence the other noisy. Inside is empty, outside is busy. Inside is nothing and pain. Outside is plans and somethings. Always somethings.
I see Manchester and I hear nothing. I hear a silence so vast it consumes me. I read about Manchester and remember my own silence. I remember only the silence that first morning. A silence where noise should be.
I think of Manchester and how to say what I feel. And finally …
I hear nothing and I feel nothing. I have no facebook flags. I have no tweets to twit. I have no prayers to pass. No time to give.
I am on the outside but remember my inside. I remain on the outside and respect your inside. I have no somethings you need.
Only a vast silence to share.