he used to leave voicenotes instead of texts. three minutes long. talking about nothing — what he saw on the walk home, a book he was reading, the way the light looked through his blinds. i deleted them all last year but i still remember the exact pitch of his voice when he said my name. it's funny what gets preserved. not the big fights or the breakup. just. a tuesday evening, three years ago, someone wanted to tell me about the clouds.