Home > prose and poetry > letter to a missing person

letter to a missing person

hey you. how are you? it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

i don’t know why, but lately i’ve been thinking about you. about those nights we used to spend together out on your balcony, looking out upon the city, watching the faraway light at the top of the radio tower twinkle in the dark and feeling the cool night wind on our skin as we shared cigarettes and sang songs all night long.

i still remember that beat-up guitar your brother gave me, and i still remember spending hours and hours playing it, learning the chords to all your favourite songs as well as songs that i knew would become favourites once i played them to you.

that was pretty much all that we’d do, right, during those long nights? sing. not like we had anything else to do anyway. and i don’t know about you, but to me it felt so . . . so right, so proper, like it was the only thing that we were supposed to be doing. like it was the only thing we were meant to be doing.

wonderful times, i think you’d agree.

and, you know, i can’t help but recall how you always had something bad to say about your voice. you’d always say that your voice was “weak” and that you really shouldn’t be singing at all. you never believed me when i said that you had a wonderful, wonderful voice. i wasn’t just being nice, you know. i was telling the truth.

and, unless your voice has totally changed since i saw you last, i still am.

i’d never heard a voice so beautifully fragile as yours before that first time you talked to me, and i’ve never heard one as beautiful since that night you told me that you were leaving and that, no, you wouldn’t be coming back.

it’s been nearly two years since that cold december night.

and i’ve spent every day of those two years searching for a voice that could compare to yours.

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