The silence today was heavier than yesterday, a thick veil draped over the confessional, muffling even the faint creak of the church’s ancient beams. I waited, as I always do, tracing the grain of the wooden bench with my fingertip, each passing minute stretching into eternity again, but today with a curious fascination—has God turned away, or is He whispering in this void? I wonder if this emptiness is the week’s question of surrender, a call to let go of expectation and listen deeper to the unseen. Perhaps the pattern of waiting, always expecting voices, broke today to teach me that silence itself is a confession, a space to carry forward the mystery of absence as presence.