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The Cognitive Dissonance of Noise Being Similar to Standing Still


by Curtis Silver


Maybe I'll write something, I said as I turned to look at her across the room. She was standing against the wall in her underwear smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke out the side window. I hate it when she smokes. But sometimes you take the good with the bad. I did.

I got up from the bed and scratched myself. She said something about class but cut herself short as she realized she was still clutching a cigarette in her fingers. So cliche I thought. I should have rolled over and went to sleep if I wanted to be so predictable. I found my writing pad after a short search through novels I'd never get to read piled on a desk covered with the Sahara of dust layers. I crawled back into bed as she was finishing her smoke. She smelled like it, but I didn't care. She walked across the room, topless, stretching in a non-sexual manner. As she pulled her arm behind her back, her slender shoulder protruding, I took out a pen and started to write something down, but for some reason I couldn't concentrate.

I asked her to go sleep on the couch, she knew I was joking, but also knew that her distraction to my writing was winning. What could I do? I kept writing. This didn't make her angry, by all means no. She loved to watch me write and I loved to write for her. Watch her watching me. And I knew, and she knew, that whatever I was writing would soon come to an end, and we wouldn't have to sit here in silence any more. But sometimes the silence is better than anything else. Others might disagree but when you turn to her and see her smiling at you and those eyes, and when you lose yourself in that, then tell me otherwise. All I can say now is I really don't have anything else to write. I feel like making some noise.
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