Unvoiced

Traumatic amnesia has a discernible pulse, like the vibrations Beethoven relied upon during his encroaching deafness.

One can't hear the actual crack in Time that occurred at the moment of instantaneous re-indexing and "forgetting," but one can feel its stunning reverberations like the throbbing after a concussion.

One knows the amnesia is there, under the surface, silent but filled to the brim with old moments and old meanings, merging at times with the present, causing the thoughts to jam and the responses to slow . . . . because the internal intersections are so overloaded with thoughts which can be neither "seen" nor "heard."

Yet, these thoughts exert their effects.  They are not "dead."  They are not "gone." 

They live, and there is a sound that belongs only to them.