It was the first time I heard your voice in almost four years. It didn’t sound different. It didn’t sound the same, either. It was ghostly.  It was just a little treasure, a reminder of what was, all through the power of aurality. I heard it and was reminded of all the things you ever said to me, and how I remembered every last word, every last conversation, every intonation, and where we were while I was listening.

You talked about her. The way you once talked about me. You were reminding me without realizing it, of something I thought was long gone, of a black hole of regret, wondering, and being short on time. Because when you’re in love, the world could simply never hold enough time in its hands to give you, so that you would feel like you could steep in mirth and joy just by being beside someone for as long as it takes.

You caused me anxiety, and you caused me so much anguish, but conversely you did my dear, cause me mirth and joy, in very small, very limited amounts. I still think of it. I think of it all from time to time, and remember what it felt like.

And your voice was that helpful reminder.


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