Quiet the noise. Uncomfortable, yet alluring. You get used to it. We get used to anything. So choose carefully what to get used to. Less. Giving up. Missing out. It’s not amazing. It’s not revolutionary. It’s quiet. It’s simple. It’s better. There is more space to cry. Rest is a shorter distance away. Lingering on a word or a moment gets easier, naturally. I miss the sounds. I crave them. But it’s hard to deny the ease of time passing by. There’s a lot more inside than I was aware of. Even when years pass and ability fades, The treausre that hides within the mountain of my simple existence, Is enough to keep things very interesting. Until the end. When the next adventure begins.