The Frequency Of Silence: The Entanglement

Two people are standing. Their hands go limp and intertwine. Their gazes melt and drip from the corners of their eyes. Their language is one. A language of entanglement. They are close to each other. One of them should ask a question so there could be an answer. But these two, for the sake of entanglement, have no question, not even an answer. Their backs break and twist in such a way that a disintegrated yet unified body remains. This body has no identity. It is nothing, but a little further back, in a place where nothing had meaning, these two met each other. Angry, filthy, outcast, naked, and formless. The mere fact that something must exist to hold meaning caused these two, meaningless as they were, to become entwined. And what remained was one thing. Now I had to understand. That this thing had a meaning. Something emanated from their intertwined hands. A kind of light that I had to see. I closed my eyes. My hands went limp and sank into someone’s hands. My gaze melted and poured out. My language became one, but I had no question, not even an answer. My back broke, and I became entwined with someone in such a way that one thing remained. And I understood what the meaning of everything was. Entanglement.