the silence before the birds start, before the mountain wakes, what IS that? all of potential, maybe? all the symphonies unwritten, the choices unmade, the lives unlived…pressure behind my eyes, not a headache, but a kind of… listening to what isn't there yet i keep thinking there's some original sound, some note that the whole universe is trying to remember and every that silence sings with the effort. it’s not empty, it’s charged. like a held breath before the plunge it’s so alive it hurts. it tastes like iron, like the blood of stars