The forgotten poetry of silence.

It` s silent, finally. I can only hear the needle` s noise through the fabric.It` s calm and soothing like the sound of the sea waves. I have no hostile thoughts, even the bad ones hurt less.Up, down! The needle appears and then disappears. A straight seam flows in my mind, a flat, background seam. The time passes with a different beat, the proper one, not too fast not too slow. Like in a good dream. The needle appears then it disappears, reminding me that it is real and feeding me its simple, undemanding friendship.