I once too knew of this man, if memory can be trusted. He was a voracious masturbator, set off by cartoon women, most particularly Princess Jasmine from Disney's Aladdin. The eyes, you see, were incredibly feminine, yet feline. Seductive but innocent. Or so he told me.
But I fear you portrayed his voice wrong, as it was more 'murmurmurmurmurmur', recognisable as English but consistently indefinable even to the keenest ears. A razzmatazz of concrete rumblings and chalkboard scratchings, like the sound of a pile driver permeating a concrete, prison wall, intrusive but dull. A nightmare.
But I have to inquiry why you want to meet with him again? I don’t mean to be invasive but I heard your last encounter ended violently, if I am indeed recollecting the proper individual. I was told that someone lost their ear, that it was cut off, or scraped off. Of course, the little bird couldn’t recollect whom, even with a generous nudge. Was it you? Do you have only one ear? Or were you the one wielding the spoon?
But please, excuse my candour, as I don’t mean to be forward, but I remember you beautifully, which is to say you were beautiful. A worldly type, even at seventeen, though you had never left home. I remember your mother smiling at me, telling me of how you always read two books simultaneously, sometimes on disparate topics. Like one book of the stars and the other of the heart. I remember vividly that you have her smile, or had at least, when I left you finally.
But I can’t understand anymore how you do this to me, how you repeatedly lure me into your world, seduce me only to ignore me when we become so close. Stopping mid conversation, just to listen to me ramble. I remember a time… long ago… I think I remember it, when we would stare at each other as if you were my reflection and I was yours, one face doubled. I am sure this happened, for you to dissolve leaving me only myself, something I can’t see, or comprehend. Like now, I feel you are not there.