I never felt more alone than when you were right beside me, and I never knew sadness like I did when you told me not to cry.

There is no emptiness like the void created by too many words.

I can feel your presence as I walk through the deserted hallways. If I stop, if I listen to the silence dwelling here, the whispers of your voice will wash over me like a tidal wave. I can hear the them already, and I run … I close my eyes and ears, and I run.

But I cannot hide.

There is a hopelessness in trying to escape something ­ or someone ­ when you already know you will never succeed, when you know that whatever you’re running from … whatever whispers you hear they resound from within and are echoed from the depths of your heart and soul.

And that no matter how far you run the path will continue to lead you back to where you came from.

As I find myself face to face with you again I acknowledge this fact with painful clarity.

We stand on either side of the void ­ none of us daring to make the jump, to take the first step towards some sort of resolution. There is a strange comfort in maintaining the status quo, there is security in holding on to what you have no matter how hollow is sometimes is.

I feel sadness, I feel emptiness, and I know the pain I see mirrored in the deep blue of your eyes as they roam over my face, perhaps hoping to see that which I have kept hidden even from you ­ especially from you.

But I am not ready yet. I’m not ready to tell you that the emptiness I feel sitting beside you will never disappear until I ­ until we ­ find the courage to reach out and look ahead, until the kindness in your words as you dry away my tears is replaced by the love I know you nurture in silence.

In the meantime, we will speak too much, too quickly, and try to cover up how we really feel as we hide behind the safety of promises of never ending friendship.

“Do your hear that?” you ask, drawing me back to the present; back to the reality of the two of us at the metaphorical crossroads. ”Do you?”

There is an impatient air to your words, and I move my gaze away from your face and listen.

There is nothing. Everything seems to be at a stand still, in fact, as if the entire world has been paused in anticipation of the choice we are forced to make.

All or nothing.

The words flash across my mind as I shake my head, my eyes once again settling to take in your features, noting the gray in your hair, the clear blue of your gaze ­ always watching, always wondering, it seems ­ and the way your jaw is set tight in this moment, the way it always is when you’re concentrated or frustrated.

“No,” I say, “there is nothing here. No sounds at all.”

“Mm.” You smile, surprisingly. Beautifully. I forget how incredibly it changes you, and how much it impacts me. I have no choice but to return it. You smile too rarely. Perhaps we both do.

“Silence,” you go on, “simply silence.”

“Your point being?”

“My point being,” you say, ”that maybe it’s time we stopped talking and started listening.”

“Ah,” I’m startled, but I recover quickly. Only this time you seem determined to not let me run. You gaze is nailing me to the ground, and there is nowhere to turn. Nowhere at all. “That’s profound …”

“Catherine,” you say, my name falls from your lips, and I feel the rush of heat to my face. It causes your smile to broaden slightly.

“Silence,” I mumble, not knowing where the words are coming from, “is never just silence … is it?”

“No,” you agree, your eyes still on my face, “and I want to know what you hear.”

If there is answer to that, then I don’t know what it is … so I say nothing, and you take that fateful step forward.

The void is slowly closing.

Maybe I’m not ready, maybe none of us are.

There are no guarantees.

But it’s time to take a chance.

And it’s time to listen.

[-end-]