The cry of silence

I see and hear, feel and wonder. I smile, and sometimes I even laugh. Yet day by day, I add yet another brick to this invisible wall around me shutting out a little more light. The growing darkness is not frightening, for it shewed itself gradually. On good days, I peer outside, squinting in the sudden brightness, wave at the flowers and bring a bit of their colour into my heart. I smile at strangers and let a bit of their happiness seep into my eyes. And then I bid goodbye and retire into myself and weave a blanket of stories, each more fantastic than the other and wrap myself in it and rock myself to sleep. On bad days, I darken my walls and build it higher. My ears go deaf hearing the cries of silence. Her terrible wails are more than what I can bear. I wonder why they don’t affect the passers-by. My blanket of stories is almost thread bare, and I sit shivering in the cold, watching the last trickle of sunlight before I shut it out with the one brick I have left.



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