The conversation felt lonely.
Like she had been abandoned after every sentence.
Feeling foolish after every question.
Because questions had become evidence of weakness somehow – admitting what she didn’t know.
She needed to feel that click.
That piercing, ringing bell.
That clear, resounding note of understanding between souls that can only be heard on the frequency of compassion.
She was tempted to keep silent.
Because silence would rescue her from the abandonment of no response.
But silence would also hand deliver her to isolation – which fades into detachment – which is only retreating’s better side, and retreating was not an option.
So she decided to speak anyhow.
Even if it was only to herself.
She needed to hear someone’s voice.
She needed to hear an answer, but not for the sake of the question.
She needed to hear an answer to remind herself that she still existed.
So she began to tell herself stories out loud.
Soothed by the resonance of her own voice inside her chest.
Finding that inside of these stories that she’d tell herself, what she had really found was her own voice.