The first song we played together was Sound of Silence. What does silence really sound like?, I wondered as I stroked your curls, your head in my lap. You turned your face and kissed my knee. 

I think silence is the sound of us sitting together, shoulders brushing a painting worthy of Monet’s eyes, lips closer than the plates of the San Andreas Fault. 

Silence is what life sounds like with you and me, right before our lips make lightning, right before the floor under us splits and we fall… down, down to Tartarus, but instead of being greeted by fire and brimstone, we feel the stinging stones around the unlit fireplace on the floor below us. Silence is the stillness of the crouching lion, muscles tense and ready to pounce on the antelope that will be dead in moments, just like what we’ll be if we aren’t out of this house shaking like Shakira’s hips. 

Silence is the desperation clutching my skull as I crawl around on the floor desperately searching for your hand in the darkness. I imagine we are oobleck-- you swim languidly through my heart, your slow breaststroke touches my breastbone each time you raise your head to breathe; as a dichotomy, your mind is as hard as leather jerky when your ex-girlfriend calls you-- insoluble and silent as the stars for hours afterwards

Silence is what my mouth refused to be after I found your hand and dragged you out of the house. Your beautiful face, streaked with crimson paint, and I touched your heart, hoping a blood sacrifice could help save you. 

Silent is what I’ll be at the gates of Hades for tricking the gods though. I’m not a necromancer but I’d do anything to save you. Thunder struck the skies as I screamed your name with the power of a thousand buffalo stampedes. As if shattering your eardrums would bring you back to me. The crows sunbathing on the collapsing telephone wires are starting to fly, like black balls of steam bouncing out of a pot of boiling water. Together, we screamed and wailed. We weren’t silent then.