Their Sound of Silence

They talk to me.

But I never hear them speak. I hear clearly what they say in the silence. I don’t know how. But I know it is not telepathy. Most of the time, it is like the whispers of soft wind moving through silk curtain. Or I imagined it as such. Sometime, like the low growl of an animal.

Most of the time, it is like the conspiring conversations of trusted friends. Though I hesitate to call them that. For they are ghosts. And I don’t know if they are friends.

Sometimes they tell me stories. I listen. If I ask a question, they may or may not answer. It can be frustrating at times especially when I don’t understand what it is, they are saying. I hate the silence when there are still things left unsaid. But they won’t humor me. I can’t demand answers. I have to accept with not knowing. And that is difficult. Answers, answers! Why can’t they just reply something, even a lie? How I hate silence!

Sometimes they prompt me to talk. Not to say I need a lot of prompting. Their mere presence on a day when I’m under the weather is enough to make me reflect, to reminisce, to pour out my heart like red wine on a white table cloth. I’m suspicious, of course. But after the first few times, I threw cautions to the wind for who are they to repeat my miseries. To other ghosts? I laughed and drew comfort from my recklessness. I laughed again when I realized that I would not trust my secrets to any human being but I will trust them to ghosts.

To be continued...