Voice is what I see, it is what I hear. But, what is voice? All it is is air. Air air vibrating to more air. to things that run on the oxygen. To the throat, to the neck, to the person. Who was once star dust, and will one day return to the stars. When I think of voice, I think of my own. The one in my head, not the one that you hear. Because that is my voice, it it does not change through time, harden with the wind and twisted in the cold.
It never gets tired, it is the only constant reminder that I am my self. Not anyone else. I don't hear it in my ears. Or see it through my eyes.
I can't because voice is only made up of air, vibrations of air, traveling through more air. Now, I'm afraid. I slow down my speech pattern so that the rubble in my head can be heard over the screaming pain that echoes in the back of my neck, wait no, I mean head, the front of my head. The back of my head... my brain.
Why are you only electricity when I wished for air?