One

"me"

And I danced in the moonlight, wildly, as though I was not destined to die

Visions of Gideon- Sufjan Stevens

Vorissa Sekana

She stared at the blue lit screen before as she thought of all the things she had to come  to terms with before executing her game plan. She made it up, as a nineteen year old girl she wrote down a myriad of rule books and letters for her future self. She gave herself up to twenty eight to achieve all her dreams, have two babies, perhaps a set of twins, marry the love of her life and get a job working at some high tech silicon valley. Perhaps live a mediocre life with vacations to France and South Korea. Probably a vacation home in Italy.

Then she turned it off and lit a candle. The candlelight flooded the dark bathroom in a warm, white, incandescent light. She filled the bath with hot water and thick antiseptic liquid that dyed the water a cloudy white. She stared at the cracks in the ceiling of her Victorian style home. Then she submerged herself in the water until she inhaled it. She did this once before washing her self with a citrus scented bar of soap with moisturiser in it as one ot the ingredients. She then stepped out of the bath, steam rising from her skin and rubbed a rose scented almond oil all over herself.  Then she wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and made her way to her room were she wore her outfit, an off the shoulder white summer dress with tiny cherries printed all over it and a pair of white canvas.

The clock tick tick ticked as she stared at the bright gamboge walls of Marions office. She looked glowy today though the mascara on her eyelashes had hardened into a cast of black. She mumbled a terse hello before delving into her monotone monologue. She thought of how she was just an asian girl whose mind revolved around fighting the world and getting high, then she spoke. And she spoke well, though when she got emotiona she became incoherent. 

"Music is like a warm anchor. Pulling the hopeless romantic strings of my heart back down to this forsaken earth. Music is like my plush blanket, dragged around the surface of he earth and picking up tiny reminders that indeed we are finite. And born to create. Its like being isolated in oblivion and being enchanted by golden notes. Like pressing your palm against a babys."

"My first narrative, I wrote about death as though my lover didnt dominate majority of my thoughts. My second narrative, I wrote with my love at heart. I thought about numbers and physics and how I failed to walk down that damn isle. Then I thought of the obsession. The perversion. The memories that were yet to be made and how I dedicated majority of my world to a new love. A love for me that represented falling apart then coming together again. Healing."

"I thought of what makes me a me in the first place. One thing about me is that Im certainly made of tears. Im made of sweat, and Im made of fear. I live to ruminate, stay present to idolise and hope with all my heart that he knows just how much I love him. How much he's my me. I decided not to design but to remember him. His pale white skin. His loose curls. How he made me smile just by existing freely and loving boundlessly. How I wished to caress him. My library boy. "

"But I had to protect. And for me protection meant distance. And distance meant an incurable heartache. So everyday I dont design but I remember. And I remember a lot for someone who has refused to die without living multiple lives. I remember a lot for someone who stands by the idea that life is lived by the present and the past is only for remembering."

The journey back home was lonely and cold like her heart. She walked into her dingy one bedroom apartment and made her way to the kitchenette.