As she lay in bed at night, listening to the sounds of the nothingness, she wished that she could find a way to silence it, to mute it, to unplug herself from the playlist of nothingness. There were no birds, or cars, or anything of the sort that would usually keep a city or country girl up, just the sound of nothingness. The silence deafened her. She despised it for it created a power vacuum. It consumed her mind. All that she could do was turn her head, hoping that the movement would trigger her temporal lobe to bring forward another memory. But all it did was reset the playlist. Instead of shuffling, it would just rewind.
In the space of nothingness, the past lived, she was not rewriting history but reliving it. Only this time, she was narrating it. Giving it a voiceover, the voiceover that she wished that she had voiced during the time when the past was the present. She dreamed of presenting her argument, meticulously, precisely, concisely, in a way that would silence them and in turn, silence the sound of nothingness because she would no longer need to have these regrets.
The words unspoken were spoken in her head, she dreams of having the courage to one day voice them.