Maybe there are times when I'd rather just call your phone, hope that it rings the maximum amount of times and then click to the sound of your voicemail.
To hear your voice like you'd greet a stranger. Like you'd greet an every man.
Unenthusiastic. Untouched.
Like going back in time when I couldn't cause a flutter, couldn't cause a hitch.
I press my voice against a mouthpiece to convey a message, convey a word. An adjective. A verb. So very different against an ear.
A word said in the dark is so ultimately dense that it falls upon you like a spider web, sticky, touching upon you.
A word left in the box of a voicemail is mechanical. A timeframe. Disembodied.
Disembodied.
I'd so much rather hear your voice in the black then hear a recording of your voice out of the blue. At a point when I might call.
Just to hear the sugar of your voice that once sweetened my day.
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