Punctuation

Silence with a Side of Fresh Swiss

I could feel the thunder under my bare feet and 

I noticed the rain from where I stood in my immaculate kitchen,

my back to the panes of glass keeping us dry and warm.

I knew it was a stormy Sunday morning. 

But I could not hear a sound. 

I felt the tug of pajama shorts between my chubby thighs, 

the loll in his sweatshirt as it coddled me in its immensity, compared to my own figure.

Chilly, hardwood floors kissed the bottoms of my feet.

And clean counters glimmered in the sporadic lightning winnowing through the light drapes pulled shut on the eyes of the room. 

There were silver appliances and a bunch of bananas dwindling from a wire hook close to the dripping sink. 

I stared as a droplet fell into the drain, imagining what explosion of sound it could have made. 

I could feel how messy I must have looked as I walked around the kitchen, collecting ingredients for the eggs I was scrambling on the stove. 

Hot chili flakes, hot sauce, fresh swiss, and some diced vegetables. Just the way he liked them. 

I hit a button on the wall and suddenly the room filled with vibrations, not sounds. Different than the feeling of a raging storm outside. 

Different in such a beautiful way that I could sing along.

I realized shortly after this, that in this dream I was living a life of complete silence. 

I was completely deaf. 

There I was, dancing and singing in what I knew must have been superbly off key, but in this way none of that mattered. 

The songs came to me in an order I recognized easily, it must have been a playlist...his playlist. 

They came in the same order as they did every day. 

My face was filled with the warmth of the stove and the fine aroma of morning.

I could feel distinct patterns in the floors beneath me, they riveted around the walls, kicking at the dry wall and coming back to play with my senses. 

They were no longer moving to the rhythm of the song, he knew better than to expect he could sneak up on me. 

I felt his arms lace themselves around my waist and squeeze, I felt lips against the nape of my neck. His lips moved in patterns, but I couldn't catch them even in their lethargy. 

He traced the words out with his finger onto my back, I turned around to face him. He signed to me, I signed back, but it was like we were filling the house with the sound of our speech as the silence melted away. 

He leaned into my lips and pressed his own gingerly into their smile. 

This entire time my world remained silent; fuzzy in a manner that reminded me of a crossbreed of a life under water mixed with radio static turned really low. 

I can see his honey eyes and sharp, but gentle smile. I can still feel the fingers tracing along my back and the lips pressed into my shoulder. I can still feel the vibrations under my feet. 

I didn't want to wake up from any of it. 

Despite the fact that my entire world hung itself on silence, my life was louder than I had ever imagined it could be.