Tessa ReneeIt’s softer, lower, edged with something unpolished. Your half-asleep voice doesn’t bother pretending. It doesn’t dress itself up or try to be steady. It’s raw and heavy with the weight of drifting dreams. And God, I love it.
There’s something about that sound that makes me feel closer to you than any perfectly rehearsed words ever could. It’s real. Vulnerable. Human in a way that daylight rarely allows. When you mumble my name or trail off mid-sentence, I don’t need you to finish I know what it means. That half-asleep voice is honesty at its purest.
In those moments, I wish I could freeze time. Bottle the sound. Replay it whenever the world feels too sharp and too loud. Because your voice, in that drowsy twilight state, is the calmest thing I know.
Final Word: Your half-asleep voice feels more like home than any place ever could.
Disclaimer: This is poetry, not science. Don’t analyze your sleep mumbling, just let it be magic.
Tessa Renee
