It betokens its keeper with unimaginable power. Yet again, it is that which locks you into a glass box.
In one's own world, its a battle of whether to keep it or to break it. Silence is in some notion, a tool which surmounts to much wisdom. You listen, you hear, others pour their worlds to you. And though you find someone to perhaps share something or the other, there exist worlds within which you never share. You take your own experiences, and try to be there for others, who claim the world is against them, that life is nothing but closed doors of happiness, little knowing how insignificant their troubles appear, with those secrets that lie behind that silence.
In many aspects, it is dishonesty. Perhaps it is that silence which only keeps back its keeper from truly feeling free. The weight of what you keep locked, acts as a wall between you and those you try to get closer to. When questions are raised that come close to that which was so long protected in silence, shamefully, quiet lies come up to the front to keep that guard.
A life filled with grey sorrows, years of battling depression alone, those nights so alone, cuddled up thinking finally you wont wake up again, only to have that too being cheated of you, tears that have drowned oneself internally day after day.. that inner yearning to one day find a person to let it all free, remove that box of anguish and burn it forever.. seems that one hope that keeps you actually waking day after day.
And the world knows nothing of it. To them, they see the lie that is the smile. The strong sunny front you mask the grey with. When you extend the smiles, comforting with the fact of forever hope, it seems they only want to hold onto their own bubble of sorrow. It pierces the deepest parts of yourself, when you know that there is so much more a world of sorrow and strife, some which you alone know of, that they cannot see because of the blinding darkness they wish to remain in. For them its a world crumbling around them, with no hopes seen on the horizon. Apparently, the little they do know of you, is enough to place you in the category of being someone who is strong enough to move on, little knowing just how slowly in the process, day by day, that silence of secrets is really killing you.
It comes to a realization, there really isnt anyone out there to open and cure the wounds but yourself. Because it's your own fault, for keeping in those years of misery to oneself, and never letting another soul try to ease them out. Internal battles arise. Breaking silences only seem to burden others, to weigh them down with things they would not be able to even start to understand. To retain the mystery, it only suffocates yourself, but isn't that so much better than taking others down as well?
Perhaps, the depression can't ever be removed, and it's just that indication that the silence will always be your own. If you cannot even open up to those you say you love, but create small lies to retain the happy front, perhaps you deserve mostly to live with your own truth, and live with it alone.
The world keeps going, life seemingly keeps going. But you come to a crossroads when it all comes back, every part of your road comes meeting up again, and it is as if trains come colliding at full speed. You're sinking again, the depression hits once again.. and this time it seems there really is no light at the end of this tunnel. The battles, inside and out, have been fought. And emotionally, physically, mentally, you're exhausted. You can't live for yourself, never mind others. Once you thought it was enough to just devote all your energy in ensuring the happiness of those you loved. But when that energy has totally reached beyond depletion point? All the years of negativity within, the bitterness, the depression, the tears, it starts to seep out, and before it reaches others, perhaps its time to just wipe it out completely, and entirely. To let the depths of sleep take over, and those final dreams wrap around you as a blanket, as you sleep as you've never slept before, enshrouded with perfect silence.
