And then, there is the silence. The silence when you've just finished a book.

It's a weird silence, not a silence as far as sound goes. Roadwork is still roaring by the window, the fan is still humming slowly, the dog is still munching on its kibbles. But a silence of the mind.

The characters have been jumping out the pages and into your mind, each speaking with their own voice, sharing vivid images of their lives. You are somewhere with them, listening to them, and then the last page, you close the book and there's the silence.

A silence of pondering, not really knowing what to say next. The usual voice inside your mind hasn't taken its place back, it's empty and quiet.
You are left with feelings that precede thoughts. Feelings that are part your own, part those of the book. Illusions of your life pasted onto the ones of the characters.
Feelings filled of what ifs and rememberings of what could have been and what could be.

A silence that isn't peaceful, it's a silence where you sit with yourself, looking at yourself, thinking of yourself.
A silence where what comes next hasn't been decided yet, the book is closed, maybe put in the bookshelf already and you are here, silent, thinking silently, feeling loudly.

A silent of things being transferred to you. The intentions of the author, the learning, the emotions merging with your own. Ending a book leaves a mark, a silent mark, an invisible mark. You don't know where it comes from but sometimes, somewhere, you feel it, in another silence, these feelings you've absorbed come back, mapped on your own experiences.
You know this place, you know this time, you haven't been there, but the stories have, and the silence they leave behind engraves it into you.

Silence is a beautiful thing, the silence of books is beautifuller, it's a silence of processing and you don't even know about it, not yet. You can't capture it, but it will make its way into you.

I am built of silences, all kinds of silences, silences I don't understand, silences I don't notice. A quiet in the noise of usual thoughts, many quiets, quiets of feeling, of others feelings, of my feelings.
Feelings of others becoming my feelings.

Silence, is the end, it's the end, silence...