- Vol. 05
- Chapter 02
The takeaway is that people only remember how you made them feel. So he must not remember how fake I was; how plastic, or the color of my eyes.
I'm sure he tries to recall my smooth supple skin, composed of animate sands of stars, and how it puckered when he bent me over.
Whether I wore my hair short or long and parted to one side may be utterly lost on him now. He always preferred me shorn.
He doesn't recall that I said nothing; only that I remained quiet. Did it strike him as hurtful or loving? Was I taciturn or graciously holding a space for him?
His memories are rewritten each time he retrieves them. This either enhances the warmth of my puddy skin or detracts further from its humanity.
Whether I mean everything to him now or was nothing more than a personal transgression depends upon the first impression I made.
Since the most primal of senses is smell, I wonder what my scent did to him. And what was it? "Volatile New Car" or "Sweat of Young Candy Girl?"