Somewhere between
    silk and steel,

    that’s where her voice lives.

  Soft enough to slip between words,
strong enough to linger after silence.

I listen like it’s music,
    like the notes…
                   belong to me.

But I know they don’t.
    Not yet.
        Maybe not ever.

And then—
    somehow—
    she says:

    she likes mine, too.

It stops me cold.

No one’s ever—
    said that before.

Not about the voice,
    that I’ve never……
    thought twice about,

    that I barely recognize in recordings.

And now I wonder—
    if she hears something I don’t,
    what else might she..
                         hear?
                      or feel?
                       or see?

    I’m falling faster than I have any right to be.

I tell myself to slow down,
    to breathe,
    to be careful.

For a moment,
    I listen to myself.

I know the reasons why.

A flame burning
    too high—
    too fast—

    That's not a fire meant to last.

But when she speaks again,
    I fear,
    I know…

    I'll forget every reason…
                             every why.