I used to have a voice.
I don’t recall exactly when I put it in storage.
Vacuum-sealed and placed in a cedar chest,
you know, so the moths don’t get it.
I broke the seal the other day.
I’m still not sure why, but I did.
I now remember why I had put it away.
Having a voice awakens the possibilities
that have always been there, only dormant.
It opens the mind and restores the dreams.
But with possibilities come choices.
I loathe choices; they do not come without repercussions.
Everyday life is easier without a voice.
Now everything is so complex in its simplicity.
Having a voice raises questions and opens doors.
But just because a door is open, it does not mean
that the best course of action is to pass through it.
So you find yourself standing in a circular room,
surrounded by open doors,
and all the things that you have right now are nailed to the floor.
I found a voice.
I don’t know what to do with it.

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