…the quiet of stealing hours from the night
…of the early morning hours, when you wake, before sun, before sound
…pierced only by the click-clack of keys that, for now, are typing the most dreadful first draft
…of what might, one day, be a book…with a binding…that bears your name
…the silent stir of your spoon in the coffee as you strain to keep it from clinking
…the quiet in the weeks and months that stretch out after “submit”
…while you await a response
…or receive a pass
…the whispering echo of your own self-doubt
…the quiet resignation of seeing each rejection as evidence of an attempt, as proof of a willingness to try, to fail
…the quiet here, as I write elsewhere
…of words sitting still on a page, written but unread
…the quiet of remembering when
…of conjuring conversations where you speak both sides, without saying a word
…the quiet loneliness of few friends in a temporary town, a waypoint where we will not stay
…the comforting company of questions unasked
…of a secret, carefully kept
…of friendships formed only in the ether, by messages sent through silenced phones
…the quiet of staying in, missing out
…of staring into old photographs
…of sharing silent space with someone you love
…of a rural landscape, left behind
…the quiet of arriving first at a room that will soon be filled
…of sitting in solitude on an evening train into the city, watching out the window as the sky yellows, then pinks, then settles into a deep navy
…the quiet at the slow outset of a song at a concert of an old friend
…on a familiar stretch of a city where you once lived
…of walking its streets to find that storefronts haven’t stayed the same, that nothing does, that nothing will
…the quiet of a bed in a room of your own
…of him working late and long into the night
…of a light left on
…of sleeping alone
…of the tick-tick of time, of a life fading from present to past while your sights are set on simply getting through the day
…the quiet of sliding calloused feet between cold, clean sheets, of pulling the comforter up to your chin
…as you sigh, quietly
28 thoughts on “Quiet”
I have always leaned towards quiet, and as I get older this tendency grows more marked. Love this. xox
And I’ve only recently come to crave it and understand its true value. It wasn’t something I sought out as a child or even a young adult…thank you, always. xo
The power of quiet… really loved this.
Oh, such lovely words here Dina. I hope we both have that book with our names on it someday…
oh YES. i love that thought…xox
Beautiful, Dina. I love this. And I really appreciate the quiet, too, especially during times when it’s rare. Always looking to find a balance between the quiet and the noisy, chaotic. Without both, we wouldn’t appreciate either.
Well said–it’s so true. It may be part of why I seek it out so much lately, because it’s such a scarcity. Love you…
you are soo soo beautiful. i hear my own soul whispering in each of your sentences. it is the rarest of gifts to discover that the slow quiet careful attention you’ve paid all your life, all your writing days, is not only yours, is shared, is known beyond you. and so the walls of aloneness tumble down, and there is communion in the quiet. in the aching longing quiet…..a quiet tender hug from my quiet to yours. and, by the way, i can’t wait to read that book with your name on it….xoxox
“…the slow quiet careful attention you’ve paid all your life, all your writing days, is not only yours, is shared, is known beyond you. and so the walls of aloneness tumble down, and there is communion in the quiet.” Your words are such a gift, like poetry, sent from afar to settle deep within me and stay there for all time…when I write, and when I read you, yes, I feel like we are sitting in a shared quiet, a space where we come together across distance and difference, to muddle through this life with one another softly by each other’s side. Thank you, dear Barbara, for your precious quiet companionship.
Absolutely gorgeous. And indulgently delicious.
Thank you, dear Christie! xo
Beautiful, Dina. I adore the quiet and love the way you gave this subject a shape. Thank you.
Thank *you* dear Rudri. What a lovely way to put it. xox
Gorgeous. And yes.
Thank you, Nina. xox
I really love this one. I often forget that it’s ok to just appreciate the quiet times and aloneness instead of always trying to find ways to fill it… I can’t wait to read your book!!
Aw, thanks Timna. And YES, that is something I’ve only recently come to learn, but more and more I recognize the value of stillness and quiet solitude in their own right. And you are too kind to express interest in my book–I assure you, it will be years, if ever, before it sees the light of day! But your encouragement means quite a lot. Thanks so much for reading–I hope to see you soon! xo
Oh how I’ve missed your words that always, always echo those in my heart. Yes, yes, yes. Here’s to hoping we’re both granted the necessary cave time to nurture our books into the world. xoxo
Oh yes to that. Even when I’m not reading you, I’m thinking of you out there…with you in all of this. xox
Oh yes our words are speaking to each other this week. And this week found us both in our places at the same time which feels like serendipity to me. Love these words. I know many of these quiets and even the anxiety-ridden ones have a certain peace.
Love our synchronicity! And yes, so well put–each quiet has its place. Happy to be back here, with you. xox
I love this. I have always needed (craved) quiet but rarely have it. This is a gorgeous string of moments that beautifully explain the difference between ‘silence’ and ‘quiet’. Not sure that’s what you mean to do, but it’s how I read it.
Meant to do, rather. Oy.
Oh I love that take! It was not intentional, but what a thoughtful way to look at it. Thank you, always, for reading, and here’s to both of us getting a bit of quiet! xox