His voice is one you skip across a puddle or a pond with your favorite cousin. His voice is one you keep in a shoebox with the other odd things that caught your eye. His voice is lapis lazuli, too soft to set in rings, but hard enough to pierce ears. His voice is not diamond, it is not gem. His voice is rock, an arduous task to work, but I must, because his voice harmonizes with mine in its audacity.
His voice, like my own, sinks and blends within bodies of water. His voice, like my own, stands out in a sea of gravel. His voice, like my own, does not keep its shine in rings. Rather, Rahk’s voice sets best in pierced skin, or pinned to mom’s Sunday best, or resting by the heart on silver chains.
Here, I will explore Rahk’s voice. Here, I will clench my fist around it. Here, I will hold it up to the light to observe how it lusters, layers, and weighs. Here, I hope to chisel and polish Rahk’s voice into a poignantly intricate sculpture that flows like water. Over the next few days, weeks, and months, I introduce to you the unrefined voice of Rahk.