By: Gabriela Yareliz
I unbox my wreath and immediately hang it over the peephole box. It’s perfect. I can hear a distant apartment’s faucet, and then, it’s shut off. Silence.
My red light glows before I twist it off, as well. My eyes adjust to the navy blue darkness. It’s bright. The moon acts as our own stadium light, lighting the path to bed.
I get a text from someone who just thought of me. I hear the distant bing. I start crossing the dark space to respond. The person texts a ‘goodbye’ before I can even reply. Stillness. I am alone, I think, but then I am reminded of the moon, her silver smile detectable on my shoulder.
I do my little stretches and shifts in bed and pull the fuzzy covers over me. I organize my many blankets savoring every minute of silence. Through my window, I see an airplane, the fire escape from above and the glow of distant windows. The room has a little chill to it. I am convinced the chill adds to the silence.
When we pause in the silence, we realize how active and loud the silence can really be. The paradoxes of the night include loud silence and a bright darkness.
It’s not just me who knows this, but also, my friend the moon.