In this silent room

I have gone deaf inside. I can’t hear my thoughts. Not a single word in this silent room.

Suzanne returned from work to find the house as it was when she left that morning. She picked the mail up off the floor, leafed through and tossed it on the round, marble topped table. Odd there were no lights on. She hung up her coat and went into the kitchen. Breakfast dishes piled in the sink, milk, coffee cream and an open bag of rolled oats still on the counter.

“Tim.” she said, suddenly nervous.

He was sitting in the living room. His eyes met her as she entered.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

She wanted to cry with no idea why. He was sitting in the overstretched T shirt he wore to bed, baggy cotton pants, bare feet in slippers. Smiling the saddest smile she had ever seen. The room was in semi-darkness, lit by the streetlight outside. Tim blended into the small living room, half swallowed by the sofa, surrounded by large leafed and hanging plants and a thousand things on little ornate shelves and assorted tables. For some reason she didn’t switch on the lamp but took a match, lit some candles and sat in the chair across from him. She had never heard words spoken perfectly before, until he opened his mouth and told her that she was beautiful. Suzanne felt as though she were being seen for the very first time in her life.

“Where are you?” she whispered.


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