Silence is golden.

Just because something is a cliché doesn't mean it's untrue. Like 'look before you leap'. It's overused, but bang on. Consider your actions because you don't know what might happen. That might be one small step for you, or it might be one giant leap into an abyss that ends with you... well... ending.

So, silence is golden. With Life being a cacophony of experience, and with everything carrying a sackful of noise to hurl in your face, every bit of silence is as precious as that shiny, yellowy metal – though I hear the value of the actual material is taking a nosedive. Maybe it didn't look before leaping. But the absence of sound, apart from your own breathing, is something I've always striven for. It's often been unattainable. Even when there's nothing and no one around, my brain feels the need to fill in the blanks with all the thoughts it can muster, mister. Random tangents scatter like pigeons in a park, flying off as a child runs through them laughing. I can't help but grasp at them, needing coherence instead of chaos.

I'm not fast enough, however. My mind is the sky now filled with flapping thoughts, never to settle and ever to annoy. I wonder if that's where Hitchcock got his idea from.

Perhaps, the very reason I craved quiet is because it's so elusive. If I were ever to find it, it'd be too much. My mind is doing me a favour by being unable to shut the hell up. Life is following suit by ensuring we're surrounded by just SO MUCH we could drown.

And, then, I got my wish. The silence. It came, not by Life taking pity on me, but by Love taking aim and firing a fiery arrow straight through me. As it exited, it took all I had ever been – all we had ever been – with it. It took you. Or, you took you.

If only you understood the truth behind cliches, that they're meant as lessons, and their familiarity is a way to keep them in our minds. Instead, being arrogant humans who always know better, we ignore them. Sneer at them. Laugh in their face.

So, what if they grew tired of derision, and chose to prove themselves to us? To you, who, though I loved you – love you - shared the arrogance of the populace?

So, two phrases joined forces. Our old friend 'look before you leap' allowed you to step out onto the road without a thought. And, 'frightened to death', or a version thereof, kept you standing in place when the bus rammed into you – or through you like Love's arrow – instead of moving out of the way as you had time to do. As I shouted for you to do. As you didn't do.

And, then, silence was no longer golden. Silence was shitty. The world chose that moment, and every one since, to shut the goddamned hell up. The words of those around me, family, friends and strangers alike, failed to penetrate my ears. My mind and its thoughts abandoned me. There was only... nothing. Inside and out. An absence.

Under other circumstances, I could have been pleased. I'd be relieved that I could take a breath and think of nothing at all. These weren't other circumstance, though. They were grief. And that shitty silence.

I sit in my 'Sheldon' spot on the sofa, where my cushions are placed exactly how I like them and the side table, so often containing my whiskey and Coke, the little remote you could never work and the glasses I should wear but don't, is my only company.

Opposite, at a deliberate angle so you couldn't see the television whilst reading – oh, how you hated distractions – is your chair. The old rocker, which is what you used to call me.

I'm staring at it through my tears, wishing it could break the silence and give me that sound I always found annoying, but tolerated for you.

If only it would show me, somehow, you were still here and squeak.