Noah
There was a time when silence was convenient for me. I used it as a weapon, as a shield, as a sort of undeclared truce. But now, as the silence between Irina and I fills every inch with this house, it consumes me. It is a heavy silence, full of accusations, full of unspoken words, and every night, when I open the door of our room, I feel like I am entering a grave.
She is always there, motionless as a statue. The right side of the bed perfectly ordered, the slow and constant breathing of those who sleep, or at least pretend to do so. I walk slowly, almost hoping not to wake her, but more often wishing she did. Let him get up, let her face me. That she tells me anything, even that she hates me, in order to break this damn barrier that now seems insurmountable.
Tonight is no differen
