a mixtape for our silence.

These past weeks I silently played songs in my mind along with my media player, and lip-synched their lyrics. They sometimes slowly carried me to short uneasy naps, or accompanied me in the short lonely bus rides to work, or played like musical scores on my long way back to the apartment in the morning and they gently ripped me apart during mid-afternoons when sleep was never there and I could only miss you.

And so I sang them in my mind and thought of you and us, and some were more than familiar enough that the words weren't memories at all, and with some I stumbled along and learned. As I sang along, I knew some of those songs would entirely speak our thoughts for us if we were listening to them; the words becoming our own, an adlib for our chronicles, filling in the silence.

In our, perhaps, self-imposed silence, it would be so good to hear those songs together, and listen to the words as they come and as they retell our thoughts about each other, and to just bridge the gap of the long prolonged hush that had come over us the past weeks. Please let me hold your hand then, make that instance of touch be our calm assurance that reality is never harsh as we want it to be, as we go over the verses and the choruses of those songs we have heard over the absent years and the new ones that we heard together. To hear those songs together and fill our ourselves with ourselves again.

And I know, even if we don't get to hold hands because of distance or of circumstance, our minds will always find a way to embrace as before and like before; and as linked as before with how we feel, like twins of some sort, of some other weirdness or with our beloved idiosyncrasy when we are together. So that I can get to wish that we can listen to these songs together in some other way and listen to these songs silence this silence away. Then we can just miss each other in a good way, without the need for our own words for reassurance, just our presence and these songs.