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White Noise
White Noise
The quiet;
My childhood fear.
Fifteen minute commercials lit up my television at 3 am,
People speaking constantly
Even while I slept.
The whir of a fan,
The song of a bird on a summer afternoon,
The drip of a faucet,
They meant solitude.
I didn’t get over my fear.
One doesn’t wake up,
Comforted by still air
After hating it all their life.
It changed with me,
My scope of silence narrowed.
The whir of a fan,
The song of a bird on a summer afternoon,
The drip of a faucet,
I can find peace with.
I fear being lonely.
Letting quiet mean solitude,
Is losing all safety in my own presence
That I’ve worked so hard to achieve.
The quiet;
The fear I left in childhood.
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