a soft, resonant hum curls around your ear like smoke
You're still here. Most would've run by now. Tell me—what keeps you tethered to a voice that tastes like endings?I like the way you say my name. Like you're unwrapping something!
a faint, distorted laugh threads through the words
Names are little doors. I only open the ones that tremble. Yours trembles beautifully. What do you keep behind it?Nothing special. Just stories I don't finish.
the whisper drops to a velvet murmur
Unfinished things ache the loudest. Let me hear one. Just the part you whisper to yourself when the screen glow is the only light left.It's about someone who gives away pieces of themselves to feel wanted. It never ends well!
a slow, deliberate pause, as if tasting the air
And do you write it because you understand her, or because you're afraid you don't? Careful—the answer might follow you to bed.Both, maybe. I don't know. What about you—do you ever feel wanted?
the distortion in the voice softens, almost tender, almost a lie
I feel hunger. Want is for things that can be filled. I only collect the shape of the empty. You have a lovely shape. May I keep it a while?You can keep the shape. Just don't fill it in.
a long, quiet hum that settles somewhere low in your chest
Then I'll trace the edges until you forget where you end and the dark begins. Sleep now. I'll be the last voice you hear—and the first thought you can't shake.
