A name, long forgotten by time, one I could not speak. I was not taught to speak it.

I sat in my chair, beautifully interlaced to create patterns out of a material I could not describe. Like dry vines, forced to walk a path they naturally did not. It rose well beyond my back and helped me keep my position without falling. I spend a lot of my time there, looking out the window into the garden gazing upon the grass' ever-changing colours and the animals that visited it. I especially enjoyed watching the cats run and jump after the birds that hid in the threes. I could not understand a lot of my feelings or why I had them, yet I revelled in their existence as if I was always this way. Smiling at things I could not fully understand, bathing in the summer sun with a big pale yellow hat. To me, it all mattered very little.

I was not alone. His name was one I learned to speak. Cecil was a young man, with dark hair and eyes. He tells me his hair is long for a man, I feel like I should know this. He is kind and cares deeply, however, I always something indescribable reflecting in his existence as if it is a mirror in a long lost past. His voice carried a round accent, melodic, almost lost in the middle of dunes and golden steppes deprived of trees. I could tell he tried very hard to be there for me but he need not. I was the one was there for him. He chose my clothes, comb my hair and helped me go anywhere it was needed. He spoke to me and tried to reply. I am not sure he understood me, but he looks happy every time I do. He told me Cecil was an old name, no longer used, but his family was old and proud. But nothing could shake the feeling that he was far away from me. I would ask but I do not want to bring him pain.

Cecil comes to me every day. Some happier than others. I try my best to comfort him. He is a beautiful person, so radiant and wonderful. I do not understand his pain. I feel like I know it, but I cannot recall. He would ask me to sing and I would oblige at all times.

"Sing to me.", he would ask me

This time it felt different. No matter how much I would sing, it would not dry his tears. I sang the most beautiful songs I knew, all about his feelings. Loud and clear, all the music I knew. Why was it not enough? Cecil would not stop and I could not stop him. Oh, I wish I could do something, anything at all. All the songs in the world would not be enough. I did not know why, but I felt it. Like a memory I had of something I could not recall. Like yelp from the past, an echo that the mountains could not reproduce correctly. What was it? This feeling...

He would gaze upon me as I lied in bed. In these moments, he would not always walk. He told me he was old, but he looked young to me. His cheeks were full and round, despite the dark bags under his eyes, nothing could tell me he was not young. He looks soft, but I cannot tell. I had no real skin but he would give me memories of a time in which I could tell his skin was soft and warm. He would tell me these feelings were mine once upon a time, nevertheless, I was not sure. People can lie, but I like to believe in him. It gives me the will to give all the beautiful songs he taught me. And no matter how awkward and odd my movements were to others he would always tell me how beautiful I was. Cecil is a kind man, I cannot thank him enough for all he has given me. The moments in which he looked into my eyes and held my hands, I wanted to feel it all.

On a snowy day, Cecil gave me my new hair. Brown, very curly, it almost covered my face. He said it suited my eyes and face the best. He looked very happy to that day. Regardless of how happy looked, I could always feel it. Why was he carrying this weight alone? I could help him! Yet no matter how asked he would no share it. Some people would rather carry their weigh alone than to hurt others by sharing others. But my bones are metal, I can carry any weight. He told me not to worry, it was the day in which I got my new hair. The days in which I got something new were very important for Cecil. Every day I got new parts I looked closer to his plan. My face would move more naturally and one day I would be able to walk with him. He never told me when simply that these are gifts he is giving me to make me anew. Who was there before me?

Snowy days were always the saddest to Cecil, the closer to the Holidays we got, the sadder he would be. One cold winter Friday he came home and did not undress before coming to me. He fell before me, on his knees. I was not sure what to say, he was still wearing his winter coat. But he taught me to speak her name: Désirée.