I heard not a thing in my silent world; not the sweet choir of the birds nor the swish of the wind blowing the grass; not the bubbling brook, nor the swaying trees. I would sometimes image what it would be like to hear people when they talked. Their voices might be deep like the ocean or high like the tops of the juniper trees, they might be empty or cracked with emotion, they might be raspy or shrill. I longed to hear. I wanted to know what it sounded like when someone laughed, or when someone cried. I wanted to hear the soft lilting harmonies of music, and the rumbling roar of the ocean. I wanted to listen to the tick of the clock and the click of typewriter keys. I wanted to hear the wind when it brushed its invisible fingers along my skin, and the little brook as it laughed and giggled its way to feed the green grass. But instead I was locked inside my quiet world; separated from the delight of creation.

By twilightlover77, February 22, 2017*.