I never really understood the term ‘voice as smooth as silk’. Silk was rough to me, full of raised threads and imperfections which only ever added to its beauty but pulled it so far away from that tiny little phrase. Your voice was like velvet; soft, warm, encompassing. When you spoke, it wrapped itself around me and soothed me to sleep. When your lips touched mine it was as though your unspoken words traversed the gap between us as it grew smaller and smaller, until skin pressed against skin and everything else ceased to exist. Like a little bit of your soul leaped across and embedded itself in to mine. That voice could never hurt, could only dance, and sing, undulating in the darkness as we lay whispering to each other late at night. You described whole worlds to me and they became so real that I could almost reach out and touch them, taste the tastes, smell the smells. Every word you spoke was a delicacy, rolled around in your mouth before they burst from your tongue like silver. And you caught me, you really did, bundled me up in all the nets you spun and held me close in the dying light.