It was a quiet day. No words were spoken or sung, and only a few were written. Exchanges were sparse, and she felt an overwhelming emptiness. It wasn’t despair, just a kind of loneliness made louder by the absence of words. For a moment, she wondered if her voice was still there. What if all her sounds were whispers no one could hear? Or worse, screeches that hurt the ones who dared to listen?
Day 22 of 61. She wasnāt just losing her voice; she was losing sleep. She didnāt dream. She didnāt dance. She simply existed, somewhere between silence and peace. Not fading. Not shining.
Perhaps unheard voices are not lost, only waiting. Or perhaps they become the silence they once tried to fill.
reflections of an unquiet mind 