The raspy sound of my voice empty as if it came from someone else. I often stop to listen to its tone. I wonder if anyone notices when I do so. I check to see if the sound turns on me and decides to say what I have ordered it not to. Anything sealed like the idea of finding anyone who walks upright as I do. One to pour the contents of my heart into--to think what I am willing to extend will be returned.

I looked into the eyes of those both old and new to see if what I was looking for lied within the pupils. I thought I had found it. And just as I reached for it, it turned. It moved as if it couldn't trust what it felt. As if the sound of my voice pierced its ears causing them to bleed.