While focus is elsewhere, all the subtle shades of inked grey, the detail born of creative industry, is blurred together in one accidental brush of the hand, a drag of errant flesh. What once was texture, curve, definition, is swept almost beyond recognition. Almost, for not all is lost. The rest stands clear and unmarred, a pained reminder of what could have… No. Should have been. Yet enough is altered to spoil the whole and all that is left to do is crumple or discard, and find the energy needed to begin again.
Silence frightens more than any scream; bites more than the harshest discord. It waits, desperate to be made full, whole, right; for the noise of existence to dispel the nothing, nowhere, never. Silence whispers, mute, of a time before, acknowledged yet unknowable, of one that presses down with unceasing fervour, waiting, poised, undetermined. Oh, how singularly relentless are our subconscious devotions, an eternal struggle to keep at bay the state of truly knowing peace.
Photo by Sue Vincent.
Inspired by Thursday Photo Prompt – Crow at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Please visit.