Voices


dear J,

if i hadn’t been the one to call, i wouldn’t have known your voice. i remembered it so differently, lower maybe. it felt good to hear your speech. it felt good to hear your joy when i said it was me. it seemed genuine.

we were immediate friends weren’t we. quick. witty. cutting. i felt love for you instantly. you were already endeared to me. i didn’t know why, i still don’t maybe.

your voice was so different last night. so sad. it hurt a little to hear you like that. dear dear J. you were always cheeky, you always had harmless mockery on your lips, there was laughter in you. i remembered you for it. the carefree gait. the effortless style. the air about you.

so different. so dreamy. so free.

“what’s it like over there?” you ask me. i don’t know how to answer that. how do I explain the process of the last few years. how do i put into words the context of the journey that has brought me here. i don’t know where to begin. you want to know about my apartment. i tell you little bits of it, the parts i love, the parts that make me happy. “it’s really nice to hear you like this” you said. “i like to imagine you there in your apartment, with your fruit trees, and your friends.” i felled tears when you said that. “it makes me happy to think of you there doing well.”

i was moved by something. your voice, so wistful, so distant. you, so far away. you, in a completely different place. i wanted you to be here next to me.

i wanted to sit outside on the patio and enjoy the evenings so especially beautiful this time of year. i wanted to roll a joint and maybe ponder over Bukowski again. i wanted you to be a part of the dinner evenings with my friends. we always laugh much. there is plenty of happiness. i wanted to show you that all of this comes. after the hurts, the pains, the confusions, all of this comes.

as we say our goodbyes nearly two hours in, i am frustrated that i couldn’t give you as much happiness. you tell me you love me. i tell you i love you back. friendships are the best place for love i think. i love that you’re my friend. i love that ten years melt away as two voices on a phone discuss growing up. as we remember the youth of our years.

i tell you it’s free, i can call again. i say this because i can’t let this be an end. i can’t even let it be too lengthy of a pause. “yeah, do, call me, check in on me” you say and i feel a tear in my heart again for you. i will i say, and i will.

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