the words from my ears – 3

3. inscription on a note

Cole had been staring at his self portrait when he was much younger of age. His pose identical to that of existentialist writer Albert Camus. Jacket collars pressed against the nape of his neck, as they stood high under his jaw. With a half smouldered cigarette pressed between his lips. He leaned forward. The glare from the sun allowed his self reflection to project onto the photo. Cole saw an older, broken him. Shine from an eye began to twist, gently as tears filled his eyes.

Cole turned towards an electronic guitar. The sounds of the strings projected into his ear, very faint and soft. At the end of which he heard the choppy, ethereal vocals of a female. It faded out and then replayed over repeatedly within those few seconds that Cole heard it. It pulled at his heart strings. A pensively depressing feeling fell over him.

He made his way towards a desk and sat down with a pen and paper. And began writing an address and a passage of some sort. A confession? He would have no recollection of and later wouldn’t realise he had even written it.

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