{Silence.}

Some nights I come in here, into this tranquil little room of mine, and I drink in the immense silence. 

But it isn't purely the silence that is comforting; it is the depth of it. 

Oftentimes, in this weird sorry world of ours, we have moments of silence that are just reeking of shallowness. We sit and we're complacent in our silence, but we don't let it affect us. We don't gulp it in; we don't even let it gradually seep into our pores. We don't use it to think or feel. We're just quiet. 

But a shallow "quiet" is far different from a rich, velvety silence. The kind of silence that wraps its cloak around you and folds you neatly into it. The kind that takes each thought and gently lays it to rest. The kind that can handle deep tranquility or even deeper sadness. The kind of silence that was made for softly dull candles, the gentle monotony of a ceiling fan, a mug of something hot, and a pen and paper. Maybe even a few tears; at least deeply meaningful thoughts. Silence is vivid. When we allow our buzzing bodies and minds to still themselves, things can happen. The stupidity of our glorified rat-race-of-a-life is forgotten, and often the truly colorful and beautiful thoughts can rise to the surface. Like a limp body in a pool of water, beauty can rise to the surface in the silence. 

That is why I find silence so immensely rewarding. Others may find occasional silences to be rude, distant, or unnecessary. But its richness to me far exceeds the hummingbird-like tendencies of everyone else -- flitting around endlessly, panickedly, sometimes pointlessly. Silence allows for observation, contemplation, discovery and realization. It is in these silences - full of color, life, and depth - that I discover the most about myself. It's beautiful. 

Silence is an excavation, brimming with its own possibility, wonder, and contentedness.