A Letter of Resentment for My Future

This is a letter to my Future.

This might sound bitter, but I just need to be real. I can’t bear the thought of a sour ending anymore. I need my happy ending, because I’d die without it.

To be frank, Future, there was a time I didn’t even care if you’d exist. I didn’t want you to exist because I had given up on you completely. Then, I accepted you’d exist but I didn’t care if it was in poverty. I didn’t care if you became dirty, bruised, cracked, or replaceable. I figured the universe doesn’t care about me, or you, my Future. I figured no one is going to remember me anyway, so why on earth should I even try?

It went to my head, okay? I thought not caring about you would give me a resolve to carry on, but it did the opposite.

Future, I met people who have changed my mind. I’ve been guided towards the universe like a child with her hand outstretched. I touched it for the first time. The fabric was there, it was material, and all the time I lost fretting seemed to replace itself with a new kind of power. I can’t say I don’t care, because I do. I care so much, and that’s the universe’s fault. The universe took me in her arms, so now I have to face you again. She made me promise. So here we are.

Future, I wish I could tell you to leave me alone like everything else in my life. I wish I could tell you how scared I am of you without my voice quavering. “Do me a favor. Go on a bender. Just leave me alone.” I can’t say that to you, not again. I was kidding myself when I did.

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Artwork by Masha Lifenova

Future, I want to take care of you, I just don’t know how. I’m trying, slowly. I’m picking up the pieces you left behind when you ran away, like a trail leading to your hiding place. Pick up the phone, call me back. I need you, even though I was too stupid to realize it before.

It went to my head, okay? I thought not caring about you would give me a resolve to carry on, but it did the opposite. Then I cared too much, I got too clingy, and you left me behind in a cloud of dust. Please, take me back. I promise to take care of you this time. I promise to protect you. I made that promise to the universe, and now I’m making it to you.

Future, I love you. As much as I hate it, I do. I want you to beam, to gleam, to glitter. I want you to be shiny and new. I want you to live fully, completely, healthy.

Come back, Future. Let’s make it work. I’m a different person now, and I think we can do it, together.

Hey, Future. I’m sorry shit turned out this way. I hope we can work it out.

Love,

My Past.

 

 

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Norma

“Do you want to see me become her?”

The question had an inevitable answer. It was instinctual.

Men prefer blondes. Maybe it’s the whiff of peroxide that makes their ears perk and sniff the air. Like babies that fall asleep to heartbeats, men follow the rhythm of her hips when she walks. Hollywood follows not far from behind.

Hollywood scares Norma.

She is in disguise – or rather, out of disguise. The woman Hollywood drools over is non existent, she’s a fake out, she’s an imposter – The woman who carries Marilyn on her shoulder is Norma.

Norma is being haunted. She’s being haunted by something much more sinister than herself, bigger and darker. Once upon a time it was a hole in her chest, one that made her feel hollow, hungry, powerless. Now it takes the form of Hollywood. She was no songbird, not much to look at, but maybe it was that shattered quality that followed her through life was what drew the cameras.

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from x

Norma shed her skin and became Marilyn, the woman with a name that rolls off the tongue like cigarette smoke. Norma exposes the sheen of her bones and the hypnotic contrast of blood on flab to call Hollywood to her heels. Hollywood likes to bite and that’s what terrifies her. Marilyn isn’t afraid at all, and that’s the point.

Marilyn follows Norma around. She looms over her, hides in the closet like a bogeyman. She possesses her body and turns her into something immaterial, “romantic”, sultry. Tap, tap, tap, her heels blend in with the sound of the city that never sleeps. Norma’s steps are even, paced. Marilyn floats behind her.

Norma can’t figure out if Marilyn is meant to protect her from Hollywood, or if she uses Norma as bait. Norma, Marilyn, and Hollywood are in a fighting ring. Is Marilyn the referee, the coach, or a third opponent? Norma never knows.

“Do you want to see me become her?”

Continue reading “Norma”

Nemesis

One eye is enough, two eyes satisfy. When I catch you, rest assured it’ll be classy. I won’t cause your hurt, but I will definitely make it a point to be there and put pressure on the wound. I just have to step back and watch you unravel, then clap and smile like the belle of the hero, in a chagrined manner, with a stunning smile. I’ll make eye contact with you, but I won’t dare say a word. Good girls don’t get their feet wet. I don’t need to, anyway.

Nemesis, by Alfred Rethal (1837)

I put on a sequined dress so I can catch the light just right. I want to be glaring. Look at me, darling. Look at me sparkle. Watch me blow smoke. Inhale it so you can have one more taste of me. I know you love to hate it. Remember when you hated to love me? Remember when I coughed up blood because you were thirsty?

Now you’re shaking. You desecrated me, remember? You disrespected my girlhood, sneered at my ideas of justice, purity. You put me on a pedestal so that you could rip it from underneath me. You forgot I have wings though. You forgot they are dirtier than you. I may be fair, but my heart is blacker than you could imagine.

Kneel, criminal. Beg, vagrant. This is what you asked for, of course. I’m shining too brightly, now. The chaos overtook me, ravaged me, ripped me apart, and now I am steel. My fury is Hellenistic. You couldn’t have possibly foreseen this, but that is the white hot anger of justice you have awakened in me.

My blade is steel, cool, chilling on your sallow cheek. Feel the relief of that sensation before I make a cut, and brand you. The traitor. My traitor. My ickle baby daddy. Stain on the cloth of humanity. Vermin.

I am immaculate, I have taken the crown of thorns and placed it on my head. I’m telling you this because it’s a secret that will bind you to my throne forever.

Wink, wink, hubby. Welcome to the final act.

Hint: it’s a tragedy.

Dear Boy

Hey!

I know this is a little out of nowhere and it’s been a while since we’ve talked, but I just wanted to tell you a couple last things before we inevitably lose each other to oblivion.

Please know that you had an impact on my life. You weren’t just someone on a string I played with once in a while. You were a real person to me, and always will be. Never doubt that how much I valued your time. I know I took advantage of your love for me, and I can’t take that back. I hope you learned from me as much as I learned from you – while the lessons I taught you were more bitter than sweet, I hope the taste lingered on like it did for me, either way.

It was just bad timing. I was going through a lot, and that’s no excuse. If we met just a little earlier, maybe God’s plan would have been different for us. I know you don’t believe in fate, and I don’t either. Our time together is mere proof of that. If fate was kind and indeed existed, I would have been able to love you as deeply as you did me. That didn’t happen. I wish it could have, because I think we had a lot to offer each other.

Whatever I was going through shouldn’t have become the focal point of our relationship. I wish I could have understood sooner that I was succumbing to something much larger and darker than you or I, so that I could have warned you to stay away. This isn’t some Twilight fantasy. I hope that you learned not to love someone like me that hard ever again. People should deserve your love. It shouldn’t be just given away.

I am eternally grateful for the amount of energy you put into saving me. You couldn’t save me. I had to save myself. Leaving you was what I had to do to realize that. It sucks. I wish that wasn’t the case. It just sucks.

I am happy now, and I think you are too. I couldn’t be more proud of the both of us. I don’t think we would have achieved this if we continued side by side. Whether or not you agree… I’m happy for you. I feel for you. I love you, but not the way you thought or wanted. You don’t want that anymore, and I honestly never did. I think you knew that.

I do love you, in my own far away way. I will always admire you, but I will continue to do so from afar.

Thank you, again, for all the joy you have given me. I keep it on my bookshelf, silent but ever-present, appreciated but never touched. That’s how we ended up. That’s not a bad thing.

Here’s to oblivion. I hope it carries us further into a fog of content.

I wish you all the best.

Love,

Girl

Break Up 1, Scene 3

Sometimes she is powerless in the execution of control over her own inhibitions. She feels her emotions too strongly and her heart warms with terrifying sensation, quickening to the pace of her thoughts as they begin to run wild. She peeks behind the curtain of his iris, and sees a thousand million trillion neurons, connecting, dazzling, snapping at her senses as her medulla works into overdrive to make this moment end fast, cut short, be gone.

In a single moment time will become irrelevant. All that exists is the space between their two bodies, the overwhelming awareness of their breathing, and the weight of the words that they both know in an instant would fall off her tongue too easily for comfort. The jolting sound of a spotlight igniting makes their chests contract, as does the silence of a million eyes watching, the ghosts of a past that dwindled to nothing.  

He watches her lips formulate the first syllable as if his eyelids had been pinned to his forehead. It was like torture out of a novel scene, forced to watch something die in front of you so that it is memorialized in your brain. His cerebral cortex is abuzz with fresh blood as she moves on to the next consonant, zapped to life out of a slumber so that he feels like he has just brutally woken up to a horrifying reality he thought was just a dream. 

It’s happening. He can’t believe this is happening. The sound of her voice is oddly flat. Impassive. Final.

“This is stage fright. It’s a physical reaction to shock. The consequences of heartbreak hasn’t set in quite yet.” [Click To Tweet!]

She knows he asks questions if the answer is already plain, otherwise he wouldn’t dare. He’s just too much of a coward to say it himself. She thinks she knows. Even in this moment, she thinks she has him all figured out, like with the crescendo in the sound of his footsteps as he came home from work, or the heaviness of his shoulders when he was focusing on a task. If she hadn’t figured him out then she wouldn’t be playing this game with him in the first place. She wouldn’t say what she is in the middle of saying right now. In this moment. Irretrievably.

It took him a second to realize that she is finished. He blinks. 

She said it. 

Now he won’t have to. 

Bitter relief mixed in with adrenaline, racing through his veins with a barely contained excitement – not the kind of excitement he had felt ages ago when she smiled at him for the first time, or let certain I, L, Y letter words sneak out from between her lips. This was the kind of excitement that came right after driving into a ditch and realizing you had survived. This is stage fright. It’s a physical reaction to shock. The consequences of heartbreak hasn’t set in quite yet. 

“Good.” He is in the middle of blurting this out when she finally looks away and their cord of communion breaks. He has a notion that he will take to bleeding inwardly. She however, he is sure, would forget him.Β 

“Good.” She doesn’t put her vocals into traction when she ghosts his own speech, instead letting the word echo and fall into the space between them, filling the void with something mutually acceptable to both of them. It is the first time they are agreeing on anything. Or at least, in this moment, this irretrievable moment, they do. 

It does not matter that in the matter of weeks, they will close that gap again and continue on renewed, rejoiced, and heavy. It does not matter that this moment will chatter before suddenly falling quiet. On a snowy white night in Dresden eleven years from now this moment will claw itself back out from the depths of their hippocampuses. By then, crescendos will not matter. 

For now, they breathe. The hot light dims. The curtain falls. They are thrown into the dark, and walk off the stage in opposite directions.

On to the next scene. 

One Day

One day they will have accomplished their lives and lie next to each other 6 feet deep, lulled to sleep by the melody of Mother Earth, and drawn out of it by their Father into a brilliant world where they will stand, side by side, awash in white light. Luminescent.

Now, however, in this moment, right now: he whispers a final “goodnight”, teetering on a laugh as if something is funny. Maybe there is something funny. She never really knows, and probably never will.

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Artwork by Emiliano Bastita

Right now she presses her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat and slow down her own, but one day she will be looking out to the sea, standing on the shores of Prince Edward Island. Continue reading “One Day”

Holes In The Sky

Everyone dies someday.

“But not you!”

No. Even I will die, one day.

“But I don’t want you to die one day. Mommy and Baba might die one day, but you’re gonna live forever.”

Stars are just holes poked into the sky so the people who are behind it can look through and see who they left behind. [Click To Tweet!]

Do you really want that? Do you want me to live forever?

“Yeah. You can’t die, you’re gonna live forever.”

And what about you? Are you going to live forever, too?

“I don’t know. Yeah.”

You don’t sound too sure.

“I didn’t think about it ’til now.”

Okay, well think of it this way. Everyone dies one day, and they can go to heaven. We can all live in heaven together and be happy. Do you still want me to live forever, and not come to heaven, too? Do you want your sister to be lonely?

“Why do we have to go to heaven? Why can’t we just stay here?”

Do you know what heaven is?

“Where people go when they die.”

Well, yes. Do you know what heaven looks like?

“No. Do you? Have you been there before?”

I don’t know, maybe I have. Heaven looks different for everyone. To me, heaven is a garden where we can all play and be together.

“Really? We play soccer and lie next to each other at night when we wanna go to sleep?”

Yeah, totally. Actually, Mamani is there already, waiting for us to come join her one day.

“Mamani is in heaven?”

Oh, yeah. For sure. And guess what – she’s happy there.

“How do you know?”

She told me! I had a dream where Mamani and I were sitting together, and she was making tea like she always did. That’s how people in heaven talk to us sometimes, through dreams. When I asked her if she was happy, she said yes.

“Really? She said that?”

Yes, she said that. She says that heaven is on the other side of the sky. People who are gone like to keep an eye on us, and tell us which way to go when we’re lost.

“Where is she? Can I say hi to her?”

Of course you can. Just look up at your favourite star and wave. Stars are just holes poked into the sky so the people who are behind it can look through and see who they left behind.

“Behind the sky? Like space? So Mamani is an astronaut!”

You’re totally right, Mamani is an astronaut. She’s floating above earth in heaven and looks through the stars to say hi.

“Hi! I’m waving, Mamani! Can you see me?”

I’m sure she can.

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Artwork by heartsnmagic on Tumblr