The silence of grammar. The silence of morning fog. The silence of a tiger’s paw. Wandering silence. The I told you so silence. The silence of violence. The silence of the catacombs contained in a sheet of paper. The shimmer of summer night stillness silence. The ruins of love silence. The silence of God.

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The moment after the activity of love silence. The silence of an old photograph composting history. The silence of a moist spider web hanging on by a thread in the wind. The silence of suffering. The joy of silence. The silence of the sounds of Simon & Garfunkel. The silence of darkness my old friend. The stumbling and clumsy silence on my window ledge from tiny and fragile yet desperately curious birds that scare ridiculously easy.

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The unbearable silence of being. The silence of Värmland. The silence of wovon man nicht sprechen kann. The passive-aggressive silence of Socrates. The silence of broken things. Hard silence. Soft silence. Blue silence. Yellow silence. The pitch black silence. The silence is golden silence. The stiff upper lip silence. The silence of laundry. The silence of the word laundry.

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The silence of the world. The greatest silence of the world. The silence of the Duchy of Pomerania. The silence of found feathers. The silence of first philosophy. Puppy silence. The silence of lead and funerals. The silence of surfing birds. The silence of the mountain pass. The silence of the church of pines. The silence of Bach. The silence of shadows stretching like a newly awakened animal. Sinking silence.

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A smiling silence. The Silence. The silence of sour relationships. The silence of eyes meeting across a crowded train station in July when the rain is tender. A chain of silences. Chained silence. Braided silence. The silence of tracks in the mud. The silence of the universe. The unyielding silence of a feline x-ray gaze. The silence of thunder. The silence of silence.

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My fathers lifetime of silence. The silence of Spain. This sunny silence. The silence of longing for silence. The silence of freshly cut grass and the mower out of breath. The silence of a feeling of belonging. The silence of a straight line. The silence of geometry gone bad. The silence of old hangovers. The silence of rodents celebrating escaping. The silly hipster silence. The immanent silence.

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The not yet known silence. The to be continued silence. The silence of the ashes of discarded writings. The dampening silence of snow falling in chunks. A fleeting and barely recognisable silence. Crystal clear silence. The silence of the realisation of love. The silence of lichen. The silence of excavated marble. The undecided silence of the strokes of a clock. The silence of rocks.

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The silence of water labouring in the smoothing of rocks industry. The silence of Rothko. The silence of Tranströmers tystnadsbegrepp. Made up silence. Staged silence. Reflected silence. Scenic silence. The silence of humility in the afterglow of a migraine. The silence of solitude. Green silence. The silence of purple. The silence of music. The silence of poetry. The silence of life. The soil of silence. The silence of sleeping skin.

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The silence of loneliness. The silence of despair. The dancer’s silence. The silence of a slight but meaninngful hesitation. The silence of mistakes in hindsight. The wings of silence. The everlasting silence of the present. The first silence of the heart. The second silence of the heart. The third silence of the heart. The silent silence of the heart.

2077DF23-4372-4D3C-A665-EA3DD69B39F1Fredric Nord is a writer and photographer living in Karlstad, Sweden. He enjoys basic forms of magic – watching dogs run as fast as they can, the potential of charcoal on paper or the alchemy of a single violin emanating out of silence. His work has appeared in Phases Magazine, Phosmag, Mutantspace, Burning House Press and in print via Antler Press. Fredric is currently writing at length about vision as silence or poetry and how it may be utilised as an act of love.

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