the first thing I noticed this morning was how mom’s potted plants on our windowsill opened to the sun.
then it was the way the light was touching the sky.
and then how the street sweepers broke the silence with their heavy metal song.
sometimes nothing makes a noise.
abuelita says that in a silence where I can hear a pin drop, she hears a constant ringing in her ears. she often asks people to repeat what they say. when I turn up the volume on something grungy I’m playing, she says it pays sometimes to be a little deaf, but I think she’s kidding.
I crunch my Lucky Charms cereal as loud as I can and begin imagining what it must be like never ever to be able to hear anything.
I begin thinking the problem with going deaf is that it implies a destination, I mean, you don’t actually go anywhere.
falling in love, that also implies a destination — a day, maybe a morning just like this one, when you will have landed, a specific moment you will be actually in love. one minute you’re here, the next you’re there.
but love and sound don’t work this way.
cookie nieves 
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