Silence feels like safety now

I’ve never been a fan of silence. You see, when you grow up in a broken home, silence is unpredictable. It follows no patterns and has no tell-tale signs of what’s about to happen. In a broken home, silence is unsafe. From this I filled the empty spaces with nonsense, I could talk to anyone about anything.

But when you do that long enough, normal surface level conversation becomes mind-numbingly boring. I’ve heard how people are millions of times. Yes it’s hot out or it’s too cold, or my lord I wish this rain would stop even if we needed it. There was never much depth just something to fill the space. Something to get them talking so that I could assess their safety level.

But I’m tired.

And I don’t wanna talk.

I don’t care about the weather and I’m tired of hearing “I’m okay, you?” It’s never new. I want depth but when I speak with depth people look like they’re drowning. They look at me like I’m the outsider because I know something they don’t. Or they connect and take pieces of me when they go.

I don’t wanna talk.

Because even when we speak the same language, everything is lost in translation