“I miss the sound of your voice”
There’s something inside the anatomy of the soul, some tone that we can all replicate, the excitement we feel when we finally see someone or hear from them after so long. I know you told me to be safe and I am, I guess it gets a little bit lonely. It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? having people to talk to, but not always wanting to talk to them. having people to be around, but not always wanting to be around people. I’ve been thinking about myself and I had a fascinating thought about our emotions and memories of one another. I realize that my thoughts are a wild series of an apartment inside, of another apartment and sometimes I have to split myself into many pieces, each living and breathing, all me, peeking out of the window into another set of myself, a watcher of watchers, there’s something intimate about watching yourself behave, what a beautifully torn creature, full of ideas and denials, full of happiness and rage, full of sadness and longing, full of myself and empty at the same time— There’s something beautiful about the way we craft our mannerisms to fit in or to stand out, maybe it’s a hypersensitive need for someone to love us openly, freely and genuinely, or to tell them to stay the fuck away. either I’m weird enough for you to love me or weird enough for you to stay out of my way, either way, being me is all I’ve known, so I guess when I say
“I miss the sound of your voice”
It probably just means that I miss that piece of myself that laughed when I didn’t need to and smiled when I didn’t need to, I just felt like it. It was never forced. it was natural to just be alive, all of that spark in my eyes, that fire in my belly— I miss that part of myself too
