Sometimes I call you just because I forget what your voice sounds like. Hearing your voicemail message is good enough for me. When you answer, that’s when you trade in your word-wrapped insecurities in exchange for my word vomit, cause I honestly have nothing to say. In person, you watch me unwrap your weaknesses at lunch or dinner. You pass them along the table like they’re presents. I write you a thank you card; you use it as an excuse to speak more, leaving the gift paper ripped and presents chipped.