Some kind of silence

The last week has been extremely strange. I heard on TV something about the number 7 and how people governed by it are moody and so forth.. and that happens to be all I remember of whatever that woman with the bad haircut was saying. Because I've been exceptionally moody this last week, though paradoxically, I don't believe anyone even noticed. Usually, when I have insignificant variations of temper, people go on about it as though it is the one thing above all else that defines me. And this week, when I was all about mixed emotions and confusion and turmoil, all around me there was some kind of silence.

It was the kind of silence that starts out by being imperceptible, goes on to make its presence felt, and keeps haunting you, trying to tell you that something is probably not quite right... only to settle around you softly, comfortingly, making you realise that it is not a cold strange spectre come to scare you witless, but a friend, a part of you, telling you that you need to remember what you are, that you can be with yourself and put your finger on what's troubling you much faster than you could with all the familiar atmospherics.

So, I've finally reached some conclusions. These, I hope, will help me live out the next phase of my life in comparitive peace. And maybe I'll even rediscover the Me who lived with everything essential inside me.