I want to listen to you speak, like you are the Beatles, each word precisely
carelessly placed, like my headphones are in and I waltzed out of my exam, and the
sky has shifted to let me know time has passed, the air cool and fresh, and you talk
to me and I understand how simply your sentences are crafted, though I know I
never could have been their craftsman. I want to turn up the volume a few notches
at a time, testing the waters and accepting the ear damage, because how could I
allow myself to listen to your enveloping, all-encompassing words at any other
volume, you should be the hum in every room, instead of my mini refrigerator it
should be you, releasing endless albums that I can play at any moment. I’ll forget
the hum for a while, it will acquire dust in my memory, and then a scratch will
remind me that you are alive, and each song feels like it must have been written
already but it is all new. I will fall asleep to your voice, I will howl, a song will end
and I will marvel at all the space it occupied, the cave I lived in before your voice
echoed through me.
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