What is left unsaid (A dialogue between strangers in isolation)

Okay, here's what happened.

Whenever my worries overwhelmed me during those nights, I would pick up my phone and leave a faint call to thousands of strangers that betrayed my loneliness: "Let's talk!"

My plea echoed through a white window, a screen overlooking the darkness from which no one looked, like a disused well; its bottom my refuge. I sat there, hoping, waiting, anticipating the descent of the buckets; and watching for their owners to gather around the well's mouth.

The buckets will collide as they descend, showering me with questions whose motives I don't know. In that darkness, we were alike, equal in the depths of bewilderment. Strange is the familiarity of the lost, absurd and reassuring.

From the bottom of the well, I answered more than a thousand questions. I answered questions born in silent labor, questions I read repeatedly until they borrowed my voice and became my own. Wavering questions that produced a fragmented dialogue, resistant to control, resembling the racing thoughts of a mind that yearns for tranquility... and refuses stillness.


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