Breathe.

It is silent.

Not in the no one is talking, yet I can hear the birds chirping and distant sounds of the ocean silent.

But silent.

Eerily silent.

The sun is bright, blistering; the streets are abandoned and I find myself walking up a set of stairs leading to a front door.

The stairs seems to go on forever, but I keep walking curious about the absence of even white noise.

I'm half-way expecting some zombie to pop out from behind a tree or dumpster and attack me.

Like in the movies, only scarier.

Then I reach the door.

And am thankful.

I reach for the handle, and slowly turn it open, expecting some sort of creaking noise from the hinge, or at least the sound of the unlatching of the lock, but its still silent.

I open the door and walk in.

It's not even my house.

And I don't know why I'm here.

but part of me seems to know where I am headed.

The contrast of light from inside to out is almost stunning.

An amber glow through drawn curtains, bookshelves oversyuffed with books lining the walls,

enclosing it into an even more dungeon-like ambiance.

There is a long hallway, dark, lined with wood paneling and I make my way down it, slowly, carefully, silently.

It's still silent.

Almost like I am mute perhaps?

If someone were to drop a glass of wine

I would watch it fall,

Shatter.

The contents splattering across the the hardwood floor,

and yet it would still remain silent.

I reach the end of the hall to a door that is ajar.

Carefully push it open.

The room is bright.

Crisp.

The window open, a light breeze causing the white curtains to dance.

And I can hear the breeze. Soft, like gentle music.

Ocassionally a ray of sunshine wedging upon the wall.

Hardwood post bed.

Crisp white blankets.

She is laying there.

Faced towards the center of the bed, on her side, back to the window.

Covered by blankets. Quiet and still.

I tiptoe towards the bed.

My bare feet making only slightly audible scuff sounds on the hardwood.

I crawl in.

I do not speak.

There are birds chirping and in the distance, a faint crashing of ocean waves.

It sounds like heaven.

I crawl under the covers facing her.

Take her hand into mine.

Hold it between our faces, palm to palm.

And we just breathe.

breathe.