Vignette 12

When I started to remember all of the things that made him who he was and for that matter, who he wasn't, they turned into a listed wash of words. Having only mere words to sum up the feelings that remained, I knew I had to see him again. I contacted him immediately and the sound of his voice over his answering machine resounded again, with all of its subtleties. I listened closely to the mahogany lull present in his voice. It depicted someone who with a world of possibilities would mildly sift through each engagement with radiant nonchalance. The more his appeal grew, the more his discard pile must have accumulated name upon name. I had tried to contact him over a year earlier. I had thought of him, obsessed over him, and called. At that time, I had left a message, and never heard back. This time, I hung up before hearing the beep.