The Glass of Beer (Portrait of the Poet Sabartes)
Pablo Picasso, 1901 – 2.
There are instances when silence slits and slashes better than a sharpened knife.
This is not one of those times.
The current case is simple: my words are as scrambled as the fleeting clouds; my thoughts are erratically stabilized.
I wish I can sketch and color my words into marvelously crafted and coherent prose. The sea of scattered feelings and ideas engulf and leave me with nothing but a state of reticence, loss, and confusion.
So here I am, hoping that a subtle and insignificant expression of my absence and quietness can evolve into something a bit more remarkable and different.
Here’s to the beautiful, golden yet deafening silence that I wish to break poignantly, perhaps not yet, but (hopefully) sometime soon.