A Comfortable Silence

I am comfortable in silence. Very much so that people get weirded out with how I jive with their mouths shut. I can get really talkative that you'd wish you didn't get me started but silence, by and large, appeals to me. Maybe because I realize how things to talk about would run out, how the city noise will eventually die to be mourned by the night and why words won't mean anything without the quiet.

We easily get excited when we find people we can stay all night with talking endlessly about the infinity of blankness and the steady supply of nothing we breathe and chew on everyday. We revel in the idea that there are people out there who understand us; people who think, talk, act like we do. Which isn't a bad thing, really. It's great and all but won't you admit that it will all get old soon? When you sort things out and realize that the moments in between words and laughter and bodies colliding are much, much smaller than the silence in between.

Then you find that someone who understands all this and doesn't mind.