Fear is the heart of love.

i just want to hear you talk. i think i’m a little addicted. to your careful consonants, and the specific tint of your sibilance when you’re pleased.  you turn your voice like a carousel. so precise. i find myself thinking up the dumbest reasons to hear it. telling you stories that don’t even matter, or not even stories. anything, really, to get you talking and keep you that way. i’m a little hypnotised by the way a whole cosmos of random storms has spent a million millenia evolving just to get to you, and the way your voice curls, flexible, around all the right vowels when you’re telling me something new.   i’m so greedy for it. i think we fall in love by voice. don’t you?