Your voice. For ten years I’ve waited to hear your voice while I was lying in bed. We’d talk like lovers, about our day, about our jobs, about who knows what. My arm around your shoulder, your head on my chest. And your voice. Quiet, feminine, soft.
I thought I’d hear you maybe express regret that it had taken so long, a decade, but I wouldn’t have minded any of that. Sure you wanted to be sure, you’d say. I didn’t mind. It was worth the wait and we’d have, sort of, forever from this point.
Your voice, your hair spread out on the pillow, the rain on the window, sure, that was the silly, ideal fantasy but in fact I wouldn’t mind if you wear creamy goo on your face or snore or sleep in sweat pants and a turtleneck.
‘ I don’t care that you’re not 20 years old anymore or that you fret needlessly about the skin on your neck or the wrinkles around your eyes.
To hear your voice, finally, in bed. Surely the words “I love you” are next. Especially, finally, when you’re in bed and you hear her voice. Just a whisper before sleep.
Except the voice was a phone call. And it wasn’t silly murmurs like lovers do. It was you asking me if you should take work assignment #154 or 32 or 39. What was my professional opinion, you wondered. And I gave it to you, and said goodnight and you said goodnight. And the room was dark.
Still, it was your voice.

4 replies on “Your Voice”

  2. Every time I hear your voice, you’re voice I hear every time your voice I hear,

    every time your voice I hear every time, your voice I hear.

    Poor sad Mercury loved

  3. Every time I hear your voice, your voice I hear every time your voice I hear,

    every time your voice I hear every time, your voice I hear my poor sad Mercury love lost.

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