His voice...

His voice was the first thing I noticed when I first met him. It reminded me of the sound of firewood crackling in the bonfire, and it hid a soft whisper, deep and husky, that paced behind the words. Sometimes I could hear him muttering in his sleep, trying to remember the words of a song that he had forgotten long ago.

As I grew to know him, I found myself thinking: how could we have lived in the same town for so many years without bumping into each other? I was surprised by the bare touch and softness of his pale, almost transparent skin, and by the smell of soap that broke away from his body to fill the air around him. He was as skinny as anyone could have been, although he ate like everybody else. One of the things that struck me most was the sparkling light that suddenly appeared in his eyes whenever he laughed. His hair fell in a disheveled way; framing is face, and his everlasting smile.

The conversation was never vapid, and he had a quick, mischievous mind, that made the delights of everyone around him. He was, in every word, tantalizing.