Sit in it

I’ve grown to love awkward silences.

Not the “I don’t know what to say” kind.

But the “You’ve just said something utterly bizarre and I’m giving you space to hear yourself” kind.

You know the type.

I sit in it.

The silence that follows a grand, baseless declaration.

Or a casual bomb of ignorance, wrapped in misplaced confidence.

Those are the ones I savour.

Because sometimes, silence does what no argument can.

It stretches out the moment… and dares the other person to sit in their own words.

To hear them echo.

To feel the weight of them thud in the air.

And maybe, just maybe, if there’s a flicker of self-awareness, they’ll catch it.

I don’t rush to fill the gap.

I let it breathe.

Because I’ve realised not every argument needs a rebuttal.

Some just need stillness.

Stillness that says, “You heard that, right?”

Stillness that hands the mirror back, gently, but firmly.

And in that silence, something magical can happen.

People squirm.

People recalibrate.

People retreat into their heads, even if only for a moment.

And if they don’t?

Well, at least less oxygen was wasted.

Save the planet, right?

So yes, I revel in it.

Because silence, when wielded right, is not empty.

It is loaded.

It is generous.

It is the sound of offering someone a chance:

to grow up,

or shut up.