It, is… It, is… It, is.
It is subtle; in the background of life. It whispers softly, in heaves and hiccups so gentle and quiet and unnoticeable when life is loud but still. When life is loud and moving, it matches the pace, and dances to the rhythm of the rain. When life is quiet and still, it vibrates the soul with its sound, waking the body, reminding it that it lives. It gently kisses the chest and tells her, “I’m here…I’m here…I’m here.”
It is subtle; in the background of life. But at night, when things are silent, it becomes its loudest. It doesn’t ask to be noticed, but it is. It is noticed by the in love, whose minds, infected by infatuation, filter their dreams with images of them. It cries, “I love! I love! I love!” It is noticed by the lonely, who find comfort in its company. It whispers, “I know. I know. I know.” It is noticed by the hopeless, who hold their breath and plead for the tic, tic, ticking to quiet for just a second…or forever. It tells them, “I can’t…I can’t…I can’t. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”
It, is… It, is… It, is. It is sorry for disturbing the peace for the sake of life.
~ Adana
Here is the song that inspired this piece.
The Junction Journal 