Voices

The strange is becoming familiar and that's a horrifying thing. But it's necessary, for what is there to life than familiarizing the new? It comes upon me hardest, though, when I hear their voices, particularly the ones I haven't heard in a very long time. Some voices are better in person. There's nothing to say over machanical lines.

Time eats away, as usual. I'm built up now, though, and I can't erode. But the tarnish is ruined. The lime builds up on the rock--or something like that. The point is, I miss their voices, as I've said before. And to top it all off, Leeba just walked in with my copy of The Fountainhead and made me think of everyone and home all over again.

So perhaps there is some familiar in the new. I feel like curling up and crying, though. I need someone to love me. That's all. To let me know it. To let me really know it. Voices take their toll, infringe upon my composure...voices that are merely memories or distorted through invisible lines. The speed of light amazes me...converted to the speed of sound. When will someone's heart break that barrier to mine?

I'm tired of looking in the mirror and only wondering who thinks of the face. I'm tired of wondering because I want to know. So where will I find my voices again? Where will I find my silence? The silence I need now is far from the lonely kind. It's the tense kind, where the person is right there next to me, in the same room--or touching me, even. I need the silence that fills itself with conversation. Wordless conversation. I love that kind because I can only speak this way with a select couple of people.

Will I find them again before I'm gone? I don't know. I'll keep them at least, I hope. My voice might leave a legacy, an impression on the world. A world so big it spans across an entire single mind or two. And that is all anyone should need. At most. That is all anyone should ever wish.