The first thing I noticed about him - *noticed*, you know? - was his nose.
Sounds really stupid, doesn't it?
I probably should say: "The first thing I noticed were his beauuutiful eyes."
That would be classic. The heroine looks into the mysterious depths of *his* eyes, and
suddenly *knows* that ... and so on, and so on. Still, it was his nose. I can't help it.
It's perfect. Straight and somehow elegant, with small nostrils. The tip goes up the tiniest bit.
It's as perfect as the rest of him.
I don't think he's human. He cares for nobody, that's for sure. Who knows what happened to
him. Do I want to know?
The next thing I noticed was the smooth, pale, calm face. Smooth, cool perfection in his facial
expression, his body, his movements. Slender arms, bony wrists, long, sensitive fingers.
He half-sits, half-lies on the couch and smokes, talks to the others, tries the food, yells at the
animal when it gets in his way, makes jokes or sulks. But underneath all this he is detached,
not really there. He is waiting.
I realized this at some point. He is waiting. For what?, I asked myself. For a better life, for
me?
Hardly.
He is waiting for his life to end. It seems like he eats, works, plays and lives his life like
everybody else, but in reality these are just things he does while he is waiting for the end.
The end will come, in the shape of another person. The one person in this universe who means
something, who is important to him. He will jump up like he did before when he heard her
name, suddenly wide awake, angry, determined.
I will miss him very much when he is gone. I will be sad, and I will probably cry when
nobody is looking. Sometimes I can already feel the tears that gather inside me and that will
come when he is gone.
But to see the one person able to get him out of this state of smooth, graceful, cool
indifference ... that would be almost worth it.