As a child, I let my voice roam at the beach the first time. The sea breeze caressed my cheeks and teased it out. With a flutter, the voice surrounded the anchored ships and disappeared into the horizon.
The second time, we stood on holy ground, exchanging vows with hundreds of misty eyes staring at us.
My voice was yours to keep.
But you didn’t allow it to drift with the breeze. Instead, you locked it inside a glass bottle in the dark study, crammed together with a miniature ship.
I witnessed you spit those jagged words at the voice, suffocating with tidal tones. On my bare knees I implored you to release it. I couldn’t stand feeling your breath wrecking it.
The low pitch of your voice dragged me through sepia tunnels, and didn’t release its grasp until my colours had been drained. I held the remnants of my voice in greying palms.
Nothing left to say.
Tinder and light sparked the flames, consuming your desk with greedy apetite. The bottle tumbled against the hard floor, shattering your prized possession. I only needed one shard to catch your voice.
Author Notes: Thanks for reading!
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United Kingdom • 45 years old