Earhart
Empty. My thoughts are empty. No, my brain is empty. Like when it’s 1:30 in the morning and you got your fan circulating in the background. Clearing out your mind. I think these white-noise boxes are designed to suck out the thoughts from your brain. But isn’t that what I come here for? Every time, I sit here hearing nothing but the same static from the sound screens. Anything repetitious can drive you mad. The heavy beats of water dropping on my air conditioner from the neighbor’s air conditioner upstairs. Leaving me blinking in the darkness at 3:15am. Just staring. Waiting for sleep to muffle me. Smother me in its sweet blackness. Sleep. The buzzing is dilating in my brain. Crescendoing and decrescendoing in a blur. Can sound become a blur? A blurry image? The haze of a desert morphing into a mirage along the horizon. Constantly seeing mirages. Whirring in a disappearing-and-reappearing act rapidly. A portal. Maybe the silence of my thoughts, that emptiness, opens