never been here before

I really wish I could tell the difference between the silence. The bridled silence I'm afraid I too often control. The caged silence for which I blame myself. When he is silent, it hurts. When I forget to listen it hurts, too. It just takes longer to hurt. And when it comes, it rushes fast like a desert storm rolling over the dirt in the valley. Powerful and bursting forth I break the silence of my own feelings. The bursting forth as I sit in my car in my garage and I just cry. Sometimes I can't hear you. Sometimes you don't speak. Why must it be so hard to listen for a whisper? To speak...so easy. To listen to others, myself... little effort is required. But your whisper. Can puncture a heart. Will break through the silence. And your silence even when I'm trying to desperately to listen? Well, that itself is a whisper. In a promise. A promise of words read and heard before. I cling to this. Even when it's hard. I wish for whisper often, maybe all...