My family’s voices are transparent. My dad talks with pride, he talks with protection. His voice is the light at the end of a tunnel, I run for it when I am lost. Yet, I run away when it’s full with anger. He talks with confidence, the low and calm sound makes me feel safe. My mother’s voice hugs me every time I need it. Her voice is clear, she thunders when she’s excited, and barely drizzles when she has no energy to stay awake. My older sister talks with a lack of faith in her words. She talks like she studies every word before it breathes. She has a brain big enough for us all, but has a shy way of showing the world. My eldest sister on the other hand, talks like a busy city. Her voice flies from one topic to another like a bluebird. Her voice flies in certainty, like she can never be wrong.

But my voice, my voice is steady and calm as the air the morning after the first snow. It’s beautiful and intriguing but not something you want to be covered in. My words can be wise and well structured, but my words can be cut in half on the brink of tears. My words can be soft like the night, but as impactful as a prodigy.  One thing I have learned in my 18 years, voices are inherently transparent.