You ever have a memory that you tried so hard to distance yourself from that now it just feels like a figment of your imagination? Is that also silence?
It comes in bits and pieces, the details all sketchy and so bizarre in some parts that you have convinced yourself it never happened. But the feelings don’t forget, the pain remembers a time when it was there, and it still lingers. That part of you forever engraved in anything you dare to call memory.
Does the forgetting make it easier? Does it mean forgiveness? Do you look at a man and see him? Is every face a reminder of his? Do you still remember what he looked like, what he smelled like? Do you remember who you were before it happened?
What is childhood to you? Is it your mother’s hand me down insecurities, or your father’s absence? Is it a reminder of how you learned silence? When did you learn to bite your tongue until it became a reflex? Does it even hurt anymore when you do it? Are you choking on unsaid words every time you speak? Do you ever speak?
I listen to you sometimes, telling stories of childhood, and I wonder about the child you never speak of. Is she not there on the days you don’t even mention her name? Does her name remind you of her? Do you hear it rolling off the tongues of men and hear loud screams in your head?