The voice that no one hears.

The last time I remembered looking at the clock it was almost 2am. I woke up in bed with a feeling of relief, but I did not know why. 

I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash my face. I love the feeling of cold water splashing against my skin, especially early in the morning hours. I let my skin feel damp for a while before wiping the water off. It was 5:45 am, I had just noticed. The sun was not out yet, but somehow something had lifted me out of bed. I am not usually awake at that hour. It felt almost automatic. 

I stared at myself in the mirror for several minutes, not knowing what to say. I felt like I wanted to say something. I froze in place for what ended up being at least 15 minutes because when I looked at the clock again it was already past 6 am. The sun was expected to rise in about 30 minutes. I usually don’t often spend early mornings watching the sun rise, but I felt like, on that day, I was to spend the morning staring out of the window as the moon, no longer in sight after our night of closeness, was to become replaced by the glow of the warm sun as it would begin to peak over the horizon. 

I didn’t have any noticeable thoughts as I looked through the window, which I had not yet opened. I didn’t even think to open the window.

I never really thought of myself as an artist, but I have always been a writer. I guess writing is a form of art that most people don’t understand. I write the words on paper. My pencil becomes the voice that no one hears. I leave them untouched, unaltered, unused. That becomes the illuminating passion that no longer exists in the world. Maybe that is why there is no need to say anything out loud.