I’ve fallen in love with muted sounds.
Opening the old, cranked window in my room
and hearing the close, distant hum of thundering cars
and overhead, zooming planes headed to Fort Lauderdale airport.
Sitting silent in a crowded restaurant,
hearing the stiffly mumbled conversations –
the occasional loud chuckle that breaks the barrier of silence and noise.
Taking a math test
and hearing the busy pencils, flipping papers, bitter sighs.
Moving swiftly through the bustling phenomenon that is New York City –
jostling and sirens and bolting vehicles.
Music and love and diversity.
But when it is night,
and I am trying to fall asleep,
the silence is louder than any muted sound I have ever heard.
The chance to think,
to be alone with my thoughts,
is rude madness
and steadily unwelcome.