threads of silence streak by in a million different ways. there is the silence occasionally found in the email inbox, when you have for a while, no new mails to read, no new updates to reluctantly process. like a passage i read an hour back, where the character checks his answering machine, sees there are no new messages, and feels a certain, (relief?) in knowing that nobody has any business to transact with him, and with a hint of petulance, which i might be imagining, thinks that he too has no business with anyone to transact. solitude and loneliness are different beasts, after all. when a friend calls you in the evening and asks if you want to hang out for a bit in the university, you somehow don't feel like giving up your solitude, and instead laze, play some ethereal chopin preludes, visit hard-boiled wonderland and the end of the world, lose yourself in the evening's windiness, portents of rain; and its alright, with the piano, silently anticipating rain.














Chopin - 24 Préludes, Op. 28 - Guiomar Novaes - FLAC