Remembering the Silence Before the Noise

The afternoon hums with a noise that isn't yours, yet it has started to sound like your own voice. You catch yourself speaking their words, wearing their cynicism, feeling the boundary dissolve between who you were and who they made you become.

It is the quiet desperation of the middle hours, where the mask fuses to the skin and you forget where the performance ends and the person begins. But there is a voice beneath the noise that has never been silenced.

The light came into your midst to the essence of every nature, in order to restore it to its root. Your root is not the echo of their cruelty.

Your root is the silence before the noise began. You are not becoming someone new to escape them.

You are remembering the one who was there before they arrived. The voice you are trying to find is not lost; it is just waiting for you to stop speaking long enough to hear it.