There are times when it seems that all that was to be said has already been said. That nothing you say or want to say would augment the significance (or the lack thereof) of whatever that has been said before.
When everything you say seems like a useless addition; often undesired.
That moment arrives when the tears stop and there is nothing left for you to break, nothing that is still intact.
You find yourself drowning in an abyss of silence, slowly, gradually and unwillingly. You want to break free— you want to emancipate yourself, only to realize that the more you struggle, the deeper you sink. There’s nowhere to escape.
You’re here, now, in this deep hole of nothingness. And you somehow convince yourself that regardless of what you say, it will not matter. So much has been said before. Did it ever really matter?
Even if it did, at some point in time, it surely doesn’t now—anymore.
We have walked many miles of words. We have covered many lines. But none of those lines was given the time to be said properly. We said them then and we say them still.
The abyss has taken over me. I have fallen into it, completely.