She : It's the silence you love, isn't it? Though my silence might be indicatory of the peabrain that emanates it, though my silence makes you wonder if I am worth being spoken to, though it sends a thousand thoughts flashing accross that lawn of those incredible neurons called your brain
She : Your love for my silence is tainted by doubts, doubts that stemmed from your perception of those tinges of my cruelty, my crudity, my vanity and contempt that briefly intrude on my silence when I talk. They were just tinges. What would become of your love for my silence if you saw the hues?
She: It's not surprising at all, your silence at the moment. You should be perplexed as to why and how I broke that long spell of my silence and why I incurred that spell.
She : I shall not ask you to speak your mind. I know what my silence conceals. It conceals what I know about you, what you'd never tell me, precisely which I wouldn't want you to utter. That being said, I wouldn't trivialise your silence now.
She : Your silence is deafening! I've wondered which you preferred. Did you prefer my silence to my infantile sentences woven with elementary emotions inadvertently blemished by those tinges I just mentioned? The dilemma potentiates my already unbearable silence. It's unbearable, even to me at times.
She : I wonder what's on your mind. In case you chose to remain silent forever I wouldn't question you. But why am I blathering now? I am blathering inside my head and it's baffling that you chose to remain silent inside my head today.
If you actually happened to read this, would you still be silent? Though it's strange, it's comforting to imagine you would.