Of Silence

The zeal within me has escalated in this post-corybantic moment. It is staggering to behold that when I am staring at seemingly nothing--which is more often that not--my mind is so alive. Do not, then, take my blank stares as an affront. Rather, see my silence as the product of a unique interaction. My being beholds that of others every day, and words fly off my tongue without a single spark upstairs. What would there be to gather from instilling this same phenomenon that all else do in me? There would be nothing.