I changed my answering machine because silence feels easier than pretending you might call. It’s strange how your voice still echoes in my mind, even though you walked away long ago. I tell myself enough is enough—no more wandering through days with my head down, no more drowning in tears over someone who’s not coming back. And yet, every time a love song plays, those slow, sad melodies pull me back to where we were. I’m so tired of wishing, so tired of hoping for something that’s gone. Even the calendar reminds me of what I lost, a single date circled in red, frozen in time. I should move on. I want to move on. But then the radio plays, and I’m right there again, in that quiet where your voice still feels like home.