"you don speek my languish"

"I'm learning. Learning takes time so leave it to me."

"I'll wait anoth ur 150 yeers, if you are not fluid it is good see yeah."

"'Goodbye.' You don't speak my language either."

"you don speek my languish."

waiting politely, Tinkerbell glow fading curiously into the overheat overwhelm of city neon and street lights, Soul's glazed eyes of hypnotic intuition begin to close.

"150 yeers. meet me everywhere."

Fading into a geometrically dark centre (dark as in far too bright, similar to when one stares incessantly at anything at all and the peripheral begins to fade into whatever greater colour scheme the senses have meshed into a Rorschach blot you've been asked to interpret), Soul fleets a smile (you feel Soul's smile, as Soul has no real face- Soul has all faces and hence none).

"Goodbye. You will find me when you find yourself."

"You do speak my language."

"I do." Soul whispered back, adding--

"It is you who doesn't."