I hear the voices of people I have never met, but I am sure I know. These voices say the quotations sprawled across the paper in front of me. Page after page they talk in tones and timbres I personally believe they express. Unlike our world, these characters are cued by conventions, silenced by the laws of literature, and my instinct is to follow along. All of them try to convince me they are worth my attention.

The tragic hero defends her morals with a voice that booms. She confesses her struggles through anguished diction. Like a fire pushing forward, her words grow stronger as the pages turn. Right by her side, the sassy sidekick delivers words woven together that can make anyone grin from ear to ear, all of which are uttered with a sarcastic undertone. Everyone's favorite one-liners saunter out of the mouth of this accomplice. The wicked villain conveys the thoughts of a sinner through hushed insults. He exudes malice with every sharp, scathing phrase that pours from his smirking lips. The lovers don’t just talk, they sing every word, embracing one another with tender and earnest sighs. The elder character speaks with a comforting purpose, and a gravel in his accent that makes these worn pages feel like home. It becomes a fluent formula I recognize and welcome.

We read. We read and read until we have perfected the stutters and articulation of all of them. We all hear them a little differently than the person before us. Different characters coax and comfort us depending on our own pasts. Even so, we all concern ourselves with the voices our minds have invented, all without ever actually hearing a sound. We even attempt to mimic them on a stage, and on a screen. The wonderful eloquence of them all are concocted from 26 letters on paper, and I consider myself addicted. I have never spoken to the villain, or the elder. I have never met the lovers, or the sidekick. I have never even been in the presence of the hero, but one thing is certain. I have been listening to them ever since I learned how to read.