My house is silent. I am home alone with a sore throat and a fever. I can’t decide if the breeze from the ceiling fan is soothing or a subtle torture, but it doesn’t matter because my house is silent.
Most days I soak up other people’s joys and sorrows the way bread soaks up honey. I get high on being around you, all of you, most of the time. I crave companionship.
In four hours there will be noise and chaos, shoes and toys and squabbles and hugs. But right now, there is silence and it is also sweet.