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“Silent, where you can't hear anything on the outside, but inside you are singing with every fiber of your being. And you're connected, through joy, to every stranger near you, even if nobody stops to speak. Not that I wish to talk, either. Instead, I stand still, mid-block, on Queens Boulevard, while listening for something that can't be quite heard physically. Yet somehow the sweetest silence is peeking out through the whoosh and rushing of other pedestrians, and despite how loudly the cars are squeaking, due to the wet roads.” — Rose Rosetree
Silent, where you can't hear anything on the outside, but inside you are singing with every fiber of your being. And you're connected, through joy, to every stranger near you, even if nobody stops to speak. Not that I wish to talk, either. Instead, I stand still, mid-block, on Queens Boulevard, while listening for something that can't be quite heard physically. Yet somehow the sweetest silence is peeking out through the whoosh and rushing of other pedestrians, and despite how loudly the cars are squeaking, due to the wet roads.