Sorry for the Silence
Sorry for being human in a system that dislikes it.
That’s the start, I think....
The rest unfolds from there — not as an excuse, but as an observation. I keep painting, and sometimes the paint feels like the only language left that hasn’t been fully colonized by performance. Everything else has a filter, a brand voice, an audience algorithm. Silence, at least, still stutters.
Silence here isn’t absence — it’s the pause between self and image, between sincerity and irony. It’s the moment when I almost become the version of myself the world expects, and then decide not to. That refusal costs something. You become “difficult,” “too emotional,” “too raw,” “too resistant to polish.” But what’s the point of surface if the inside rots quietly underneath?
So yes — sorry. But not really.
The phrase is a trick, a half-smile. It sounds polite enough to pass the door, but it carries a small knife of defiance inside it. I’m sorry I didn’t meet your expectations, but your expectations were never real. And what is there to be sorry for, truly?
What I am sorry for.. really is everything that was supposed to be said but couldn’t be. For many reasons.. Non of them good, no good reasons. The reason to stay silent will never be a good reason.
by Georg Óskar