Known around the globe for his voice, I fell for that part of him before I quickly fell in love with the entire man. He was in Australia at the time of our first phone call. To be honest, I can't recall much of what we talked about in those two hours, but I clearly recall that while we were chattering away he suddenly stopped whatever it was that we were talking about to interject, "I have to tell you something; I am in love with your voice." I was stunned, but shyly admitted I had fallen in love with his voice, too.

When our love affair abruptly ended three years later, the days, weeks, months and years of silence between us were excruciating, but I tried very hard to go forward, to put the memories of The Voice and of 'us' in a box, one tied up with a scarlet-red ribbon and a label that warned: PRIVATE! DO NOT DISTURB!

As I went on with living, I unconsciously compared every man who crossed my path to The Voice. I was able to love, but was no longer capable of falling head-over-heels "in" love. A few nice men with decent voices stepped into my world, but none could compare to The Voice. A romantic and sentimental woman, I was shocked at myself when my heart became rather cold, shedding not a single tear when a relationship ended. I just kept moving on even though it was wrong and often unfair on my part.

However, in my defense, I really believed I had boxed up the memories of The Voice. Unaware of true love's determination and resolve, the intense memories of The Voice's very being, his smile, his touch, his laughter, his hands, his height, the way he walked, everything that was this man never ceased to loom ever-large and alive over me, about me and through me. I know now that the small box was not large enough and the scarlet-red ribbon not strong enough to hold the vivid memories of The Voice, and that there wasn't a time or place when he was not in my thoughts. However, during those years, I truly believed I had The Voice under control, contained safely in that little beribboned box. Moreover, all the while, I remained convinced I would never hear from him again, at least not in this lifetime.

Just a few months shy of five years from our last communication had passed when I sat down at my computer one evening a few weeks ago. Extremely upset over something entirely unrelated, I was talking (and crying) with a friend while I quickly scanned my list of incoming mail. My tears stopped immediately. I could not believe my eyes. I gasped. My heart began pounding. I was stunned. Eventually, I was able to tell my friend there were two notes from The Voice, two notes from the man I had adored since that first phone call back in early 2001. Butterflies swarmed about in my stomach in a dizzying fashion. My eyes couldn't read fast enough. Over-and-over, I read The Voice's words, both silently and aloud. I could not get enough. Although unspoken, The Voice's words were needed sustenance this woman, a woman who had been starving without his presence in her world.

In my ever-active mind, I could see his lengthy fingers typing the words, and then suddenly I envisioned his mouth forming each sound as I heard The Voice saying each word. It took me a few hours to regain my composure. Part of me wanted to answer immediately, but another part was afraid to take the risk. Finally, after building up my courage, I answered his notes with caring replies, but my words were meager in comparison to his.

That night, I tossed and turned as I relived the times we'd spent together from 2001 to 2003. I relived our romance-and-love-and-passion. His notes had given me courage enough to loosen the imaginary ribbon on that pretend box, allowing ALL of the real contents to tumble, freely and beautifully, about in my mind. Spilling out were myriad recollections of all my senses, sights, tastes, smells, touches and of course, sounds from days long past. I recalled the way I felt while walking hand-in-hand with him down the street of a foreign city, our first kiss, yellow daffodils, the delight of shared laughter over something very silly, cappuccino at a sidewalk café, his laughter when he took a funny photo of me, and the just the indescribable way The Voice made this woman feel in mind, heart, body and soul.

To my absolute delight, the next morning, there was another note from him asking for my new phone number. Without hesitation, I sent it. I tried to focus on other things, but it was to no avail. I frittered away the morning, until a few hours later when the phone rang. When his magnificent voice caught my ear, I thought this must be a dream, a most marvelous dream, but The Voice and I didn’t miss a beat. We talked a mile-a-minute. We laughed. It was if our voices were a salve for each other, a vocal balm that helped heal the wounds of time lost. We laughed. We reminisced. We confessed our feelings for each other. That day, our voices reached through time and distance to embrace each other's spirit.

When will we actually see each other again? He's in Europe now, so I have no idea. However, I do know this woman shall remain forever thankful The Voice took the risk of being just "a voice from the past", and I took the risk of replying. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, or so they say. Knowing there might be a note from him any moment of the day, or that the phone might ring, and The Voice, now a voice from the present, might be on the other end have made these last few weeks joyous beyond description.