Voice Recording Number 5

i'm listening to recording number 5. it's my own fault for digging where the dust didn’t settle, i heard my voice cracking through static, saying “ok go,” and you you come on like the end credits of a bad film, talking about fate and fools, last goodbyes that grow on trees in some cemetery of could’ve beens. i'm listening to recording number 5 five years later, nursing a jack and coke something that wouldn’t surprise you. turns out the metaphor was real, turns out people mean it when they disappear. i'm listening to recording number 5 thinking maybe japan was kind to you, maybe you learned to bow to silence. i don’t need the details. i just hope you were alright. but i wonder if you know i found a love that doesn’t burn down the house just to feel warm. maybe this was your way of ducking before the storm. i'm listening to recording number 5 and yes, i don’t love you anymore. but that lack of feeling changes shape. it becomes soft, distant, almost holy. i don’t have the heart to delete it. not because i have any regrets, but because that voice, your voice, was real. and some things, even when they’re over, deserve to be remembered. you sang your goodbye, and i, i’m still sitting here, listening.