QUIET.

Funny she cannot find the words to convey how she feels. She is normally a nonstop talking machine you would have to pay her a hefty sum to just shut up.  

She makes recounting an event into a feature film arms waving eyes bright and her vocabulary quick fire but articulate. Nothing is left behind every minuscule detail displayed as if on a counter of a jewellery shop. Where the gems twinkle and entice you in.


Now she is silent most days cannot even concentrate on her most beloved poems or books. Nothing has the hook to ignite her imagination and stoke the fire of dreams. It all feels to black she cannot see the colours
she needs. Pastel shades or vivid hues causing a riot with a placard look at me.

She feels cold to freezing and the winter nights make her feel morose and lonely too.
She is lost without her story telling it gave a good dust got rid of the cobwebs clinging in corners and made everything gleam. Quietness affect’s your heart and mind it seems.

Just one shove of life on it’s bad day for her it’s been twelve months and she can’t find the Joie de vivre she needs . Like when you watch children play all the squeals of laughter and not even a grazed knee needs
a plaster .

She sighs at how life can be so contradictory.You only notice how loud silence can be when you are quiet as a mouse scurrying to find that crumb of cheese .