Amor In Media Vox

'Panacea,' she thought, was all she thought, could think. He spoke in phrases and cadences that her brain, by default, understood most easily. If her skull was the cracked white of an eggshell, his voice was the dusky silver of mercury and his syllables rolled ovoid, soothing and glimmering with care. Nothing can put an egg back together, but the mere fact that he wanted to try tasted deep and abiding with truth. She started to believe what he was saying, and she liked his voice far too much. The way it melted into her ear with a richness on par with drinking chocolate and a depth unequaled by fine velvet curtains. The way he could still swagger with confidence when all she had was the sound of him. It was a buoy, sweetly bedecked with promise, far away but not out of reach.

'Panacea,' she thought, though she knew it wasn't true. That there are treatments for ailments that pain the patient more than the disease, and she was well-versed in these. However, this was not the time to be cruel to herself, not with so many reasons hammering nails in her head to take what eased pain and not question it. Just take the love in the middle of the voice and hold it like an icepack to a bruise. Forget frostbite. Forget anything she had to lose.



© Sara Gaddis 2010