Sunday, February 6

The quiet. 
Its warmth is so unnatural. 
So unnatural. 

it seems to fill all the corners of this old house
and yet its as if the house is alive
it creaks when you walk across the floor 
it thunders in a whisper as the heat comes on
clanks when it shuts off
its walls tap tap tap tap tap
the faucet drips & drips & drips 
the doors scream when you open them too slow
its windows are clouded and let you hear everything from the world, muffled
the wind-chimes on the porch are singing along with the house
singing and singing 
the house is speaking
pipes whooshing 
 clock ticking 
water dripping 
wind chiming 
floor creaking
walls tapping
heat clanking
doors screaming
the silence... 
the silence is so loud

So natural.
Its warmth becomes so natural.
The quiet.

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