… mephistopheles?

The house is in darkness, save for a single reading lamp beside the high-wing back leather chair that I’m nestled in, with a cashmere blanket and a semi-cold cup of coffee. Every now and again a window pane rattles as the thunder announces the streaking lightening outside, as if I hadn’t noticed the rain pitter-pattering on the roof above me. The curtains purposefully haven’t been drawn.

I was out on a date earlier. A blind date set up by mutual friends who seem to know ‘just the perfect’ dinner companion for me. I tend to get a chill running up my spine whenever I hear those words. The last time it was someone I knew. Someone who was the straw on the camels back. I can imagine, that on one of these dates what is there left to say when you’re so tired of talking? If I did, this is what I could say:

“Somewhere in Jo’burg, in a dimly lit room is a man in his early thirties. In his hands a half-read copy of The Hours. Sections of yesterday’s papers are still scattered on the floor, on the sofa, in the bathroom. The warm brown leather chairs, entire walls made of books, and a window that opens out into darkness that is the country side. He’s been living here for a while. He’s thought of moving, but for right now it’s comfortable.

Most of his accent is gone, dulled by a life lived in the city, like a kitchen knife after years of heavy use. But even today, hints of another place still come out as alcohol seeps in. handsome, quite, he’s had a few serious relationships and at least one major heartbreak. It’s been a while since anyone’s managed to surprise him. Sure there are cute guys out there but at this stage of his life he needs more.

He’s a romantic. He’s the one who remembers birthdays and anniversaries, the one who spends hours finding the right present. He likes to see the surprised look on their faces as they open it, a gift that says, “See? I’ve been listening.” He likes to think that the right guy is out there, he’s just not sure.

Somewhere lives a man. He’s a bit of me, and a bit of whom I’d like to meet. An idea of a person that comes to mind whenever I get dumped, go on a bad date, or have sex of the ordinary kind.

He has no clear features or name.

He’s the one.”


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