I love it in my kitchen. I’ve decorated a whole 650 sq ft combination dance studio and bedroom, but the space I love most is my 9ft x 6 ft kitchen. It’s quiet in here. I sit on a mini step-stool with my back against the wall and let the silence pull me into everything that lives just beneath my surface. The steady drone of the refrigerator keeps me company. The sound of cars speeding by outside makes this silence feel all the more still. I revel in this type of silence, the kind that feels dense.
Sometimes I want someone to come into my life so badly that I don’t know what to do with myself. This is where the silence begins — in the weight of the absence of someone else to fill it. But as I sit in it longer, it’s essence starts to transform from lack to abundance, from a puddle into a well. The thread that runs through the desperation of longing leads to some Higher place of assuredness. It leads to a richness that entrenches, a Love bigger than what we have the capacity to offer even our own selves.
My truth is that I taste a sweetness in this lonely silence that I am afraid of being without, AND I’d also like for somebody to be in this silence with me. Did you tilt your head at the illogic? My heart did too. But some version of these two conflicting truths must be able to exist together, somehow.
There’s plenty of space here for my person. They could sit right across from me, back pressed up against the cupboard underneath the sink. Together, in silence, on the kitchen floor.
