I love the dead of silence. It’s beautifully personal. All I can hear is myself, my breath and my thoughts. My mind is free to tangent as it pleases. My thoughts are limited to my own devices, hidden from the rest of the world. I can hear them, I can organize and I can reorganize them. I can build them up and break them down. I ask myself, and I answer myself. Silence is the thinking mans drug. It’s something I look forward to, something I search for, something I crave. Silence is when the world stops, but I keep going. It will hone your thoughts, sharper than a razors edge. But in that silence, in that vacuum of nothingness, it gets to be deafeningly loud. The ringing in your ears, the weight on your mind. The thoughts build upon one another, compounding into something larger than what you were ready for. Solitude sets in and you begin to search for the distraction. The sounds that will make you think something other than what you were. The sounds, the sights, the stimulation that will remove you from your own world and place you back into their world. The world where yours doesn’t matter, and things continue moving at a hasty clip. A place where you fill your role, but no one really knows if it makes a difference. I think people like this distraction. No, I think people need this distraction in their life, to hide from themselves, to occupy their minds. But silence, like any good drug, will keep the addicts returning for more. That’s what I am, an addict. While the normal world lies dormant, in preparation for another day, I return to my drug. Sleep deprived but properly medicated is how i’ll live my life.