Silence wasn’t supposed to happen. Not so soon, before I’d become comfortable on the couch. These words surprise me. Doesn’t it make more sense to become comfortable, physically and mentally, before speaking words that might impact what transpires during the next fifty minutes? There wasn’t room for such a question in my mind in those opening moments of the therapeutic hour. I wasn’t thinking, at least not consciously. I was experiencing, during those initial seconds or minutes, what it was like to listen to nothing, except for the noise in my own mind. The other human being in the room, in his working space, was seated behind me. How I wanted to hear his words! Any series of sentences would’ve sufficed, or so I thought. Was I thinking? As if they’d been waiting for this inner moment, two or three possible subjects that I could speak about came to me. Yet all of the words remained inside of me. I wondered what Martin might be thinking behind me. Was he worried about me? Maybe I wasn’t the only one who preferred to hear some noise in the room. I reminded myself to listen. Street noises arrived from four floors below. We weren’t alone, Martin and I, in our silence. Then I spoke. I mentioned what I heard from outside. What a relief to hear my own words! I was sad. Silence could be quite an experience.