• Eygló Karlsdóttir

Silent Warfare (A POEM)


Those feelings inside me are not going away.

I can name them after the dwarves in Snowhite, but that won’t change the fact that they’re sitting here, hiding in plain sight.

The lightning flashes outside my window, but I hear no sound.

And the silence is deafening. Overpowering.

Hardboiled.

I sing in the shower to silence the thoughts. This morning it’s Michael Jackson though and that’s almost worse than the thoughts. The way you make me feel - I remember very well how he made me feel. I don’t need the reminder.

I dry off with the Minnie Mouse towel and sit myself in the couch, put on the television and watch the news.

The silence is deafening.

The newscasters face seems to reflect what’s inside of me.

The rain starts beating the window, constant whiplash and I can’t but go outside and have the rain water my dehydrated soul. The lightning flashes again in the distance but all I hear is the sound of the exhausting rain.

Deafening.

I go inside and pour myself a cold cup of coffee. Memories of Greece wash over me. The blue ocean, the harsh stony beach, the donkey beside the road next to the hotel, the bad roads. Your lips on mine, all the soundless kisses.

Deafening.

The telephone is ringing, flashing its light, silently buzzing in the corner.

I ignore it and let my thoughts drift, wander away into the minefield that is my mind these days. Hit a landmine and there is pain, but unlike warfare these landmines come with some happy memories, memories that will return but only in the minds eye. Silent, not invisible.

But deafening.

I pick up my phone and look at the screen.

Caller unknown.

I watch the display for a long time even after the screen has gone black.

The silence is disturbing me but then the lightning flashes again. I count slowly to four and then I hear the sound. Finally I hear the thunder cracking.

It’s soothing, if only for a moment.

I let the curiosity get a hold of me and when I hear the phone calling I answer.

It is you. The perfect stranger.

Your voice is but a whisper, the clock ticking in the living room seems to suddenly come alive and I close my eyes and try to visualise your face. Tick-tack. Tick-tack.

Of course I can’t yet and when we hang up the phone, the silence seems a little quieter, the white noise in my heart a little less painful and the sound of the rain becomes music.

I close my eyes and open my heart. The silence flies out of it, deafening, unbreakable silence seems never-ending. Then I go to the window and there his face is, that face that used to belong in my heart. The face one who hurt me.

It’s painted on my window now.

But I can hear the rain and in the distance I see the stranger walking towards the house.

I go to open the door because your smile seems to kill the silence.


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