I am sitting
in all your silence.
Who knows
if it is the silence
of neglect,
or instead of deep
processing of
all our questions.
Who knows, indeed,
if it is the silence
of busyness,
or of distraction;
internet gaming and
endless repeats.

It is a choice,
I know,
to sit in
all this endlessness.
I could turn my back
and the silence
to you.
Leave you alone
instead.

Some inner
music,
that even I
cannot hear,
holds me back
from turning.
A music playing
silently,
to which I listen,
which I obey.

And so I sit around
in all our
endless silence.

A calm descends.

It is out of my
hands now.