There is a silence that waits for sound. As a color, it resembles the grey just before dawn. As a smell, it's like a hint of smoke when the fire is still a mystery. If pictured, I would see it when I expect to see other things. And as a person... I am that person. The lock is waiting to be turned, the fruit to ripen, the song to reach its final note... What sound will it take? What if that, too, had the form of a someone? My heart is telling me stories, day after day, of a person I've never met. And if I pause to hear what's not said, it's startling the picture that emerges.