. . . something akin to a monastic order might be in order where I take a vow of solemn silence in order to not have to worry about what to bury and what to speak because it would all be buried then, buried in the depths of self, where only my own ears are attuned to my own voiceless voice, the whisper and scream of thoughts in the inscape of the soul.
Eventually everything would quiet--wouldn't it?--eventually I wouldn't have anything to say. Not out loud.
And then I wouldn't hurt so much. Maybe this hollowness would go away if I ordered myself not to speak.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
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