"I almost miss the sound of your voice, but know that the rain
outside my window will suffice for tonight. I’m not drunk yet, but we haven’t spoken in months and I wanted to tell you that someone threw a bouquet of roses in a corner trash bin and I wanted to cry because, because — well you know exactly why. And, I guess I’m calling because only you understand how that would break my heart. I’m running out of things to say. I’ve stopped stealing pages out of poetry books, but last week I pocketed a thesaurus and looked for synonyms for you and could only find rain and more rain and a thunderstorm that sounded like glass, like crystal, an orchestra. I wanted to tell you that I’m not afraid of being moved anymore; not afraid of this heart packing up its things and flying transcontinental with only a coat and a folded-up address in my pocket. I’ve saved up enough money to disappear. I know you never thought the day would come. Do you remember when we said goodbye and promised that it was only for then? It’s been years since I last saw you, years since we have last spoken. Sometimes, it gets quiet enough that I can hear the cicadas rubbing their thighs against each other’s. I’ve forgotten almost everything about you already, except that your skin was soft, like the belly of a peach, and how you would laugh, making fun of me for the way I pronounced almonds like I was falling in love for the first time." -If I Left You A Voicemail This Would Be It Shinji Moon