Silence is perhaps this Earth’s biggest paradox.

It is equally soothing and destructive to the soul.

It is the source of hope and the reason for despair.

It gives you the will to give up on ever making sense of anything at all with confidence and despair, simultaneously.

Something about silence is just profoundly soothing.

Though speech seems like the right course of action to take when you are burdened, it just isn’t as satisfying as a silence that comes – not from frustration – but from lack of interest.

The silence that is induced by not caring to be understood…

The silence that is encouraged by your desire to further mislead people into their sick prejudices and help them sink deeper into their stereotypical manners of thinking.

The silence that empowers you as your convictions grow stronger than before with every impotent, one-sided conversation.

The paradox comes when, after such a long silence, you attempt to speak…

If you attempt to speak, something will hack up in your throat and keep the words trapped in the abyss that is inside you.

The thoughts can no longer be interpreted using words.

In your mind and soul, they manifest themselves into shapes and colours, with words floating among the shapes in feeble attempts to emphasize their existence and their importance.

But they are not important anymore.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Speech becomes trivial and voice turns to an accessory that you can easily do without.

Something inside of you makes perfect sense, but only to you, turning you into a madman in the eyes of everybody else.

But, alas! Does that even matter at this point?

There is comfort in silence.

There is comfort in not caring to be understood.