What do you see in my silence?

Do you not see a rummaging of thoughts, a rearranging of gestures, the traffic of muted judgments kept aside for they only amuse. Do you not see me take pleasure in the calculated imagery of myself and of you, the slight smirk that suggests presence, the forlorn gaze that belies presence, evoking a mixture of curiosity and defiance? Confused by the lack of communication, you speak with averted gaze, a harsh and uninviting one.

I am now cold.
Not a single word has been rescued from the dreamless mist, like before when they were warmed on a wooden floorboard, as they donned an actor’s shoe, to dance the image painted within that dreamless mist. The fire crackles emptily, the red embers, suggest a dreadful reckoning. Panicked, I pick up a deep crimson ember, twist it into a word and flung it through the mist. The mouth has stayed shut for long; the hinges have forgotten to open. The flung ember hurtles into the unopened mouth, singeing the soft innards of my lips; my mouth opens in frenzy, the ember shoots out, all the while transforming into a sound. Your eyes react to my blundering voice, as I sit astonished at the timbre and strangeness of my voice. Again a stranger had spoken. While you wait for my familiar voice, I, lost again in my silence try to find my true voice again.