The voice. It's ever so inconstant, always unannounced, but it leaves deep imprints when it does speak.

It remains silent for months, years at a time. Most of the time, I don't think about it. But sometimes, I remember and I miss it.

Then it speaks. And my rational side doubts it. Everytime. The words must be projected from somewhere, from someone. Most likely, me. Right?

Except that, that sort of unsettling truth couldn't possibly come from me. I couldn't project truth that I am unaware of, could I?