The Voice

I used to think I had found a voice in a million voices.

It was a voice unlike any other voice, and sometimes the lips it escaped from formed themselves into ear holes. The voice would silence itself in an instance, put the pen to paper and take notes instead. It would roll its tongue with confidence as it carefully picked answers down the narrow road, kind of like 5 year-old girls pick up spring flowers.

My voice was my only parent. Frightened, I ran to it with scratched up knees, and looked away as it would stitch the cuts up like A-list surgeons do. Sometimes, only sometimes, my voice drew blood from my veins. But my voice, so caring and gentle, made sure I never felt a thing.

Treetops, thunderstorms and stray cats all reminded me of my voice. This voice of highest volume. Quite often did my voice overuse the three little words. Sometimes it made them seem as tiny as amoebas, I had to investigate their sincerity with thick rimmed glasses and microscopes.

But today, today my voice slapped me. It told me it didn't want to be my voice anymore.
"But I have so much left to learn!"
"I give up on you. From now on you will be your own voice."

You used to be my voice. I used to listen to your lullabies, I used to believe every single lie, so misleading and beautiful.

And now what do I have? Millions of other voices to choose from, all out of tune? Not one of them will read me bedtime stories. Not one of them will tell me I'm beautiful. Not one.

But perhaps it's just what I deserve for believing my voice was one in a million voices.