A second chance at sanity

"my, you"

vitam solitariam agere-to live a lonely life.
Everyday life - Honas

I wanted to refer to you as mine, but I'll refer to you as my you, just so you can maintain a sense of individuality. I've written multiple love letters but none can ever capture the love I feel for you. The sense of renewal that each sunset spent with you gives me. Every reminder you give me to leave everything in the day.

Monday is Monday. Tuesday is Tuesday. Wednesday is Wednesday.

I love you for that. My you. Though I never owned you. Never once. I occupied your heart . Before you left me. Left me in a state of loneliness no human could ever heal.

*

One thing Mui held onto after Jo left her, was the sense of renewal that came with loneliness. The lack of monotony that characterized her days. She visualized herself as an emotional chameleon. One day holding onto the blue of sadness, the next day shedding her skin as though it was nothing but a blanket. A blanket adhered to her skin by the sheer force of her active effort to hold on.

Other days she was kissed by the yellow of joy and it's utter child-like nature. And today, well today she was grey. Not only because of last night but because she felt lonelier than usual. More alone.

She started her day with her daily good-bye. Her inner monologue about loving Jo one last time. A monologue that seemed as though it would go on for an eternity.

Then a shower. Cause if she sat in the bath she would spend half the day trying not to break the surface of the water. Trying to keep it still. Avoiding the hatred.

This was followed by a simple breakfast of blue berries and Greek yogurt, with honey. And a cup of rooibos. Even though it would sedate her. She knew she needed to be subdued. To come to think of it she spent most of her days sedated. In a state of slumber that is was as alert as being awake. But the truth was she was never truly, actually awake.

Never really there.

After breakfast it was time for work. Time to leave the mouldy walls that were so sympathetic they could just cave in and hug her. To work she wore a gambouge romper and a pair of suede leather shoes. Her brothers shoes. Shoes that he had outgrown the way he outgrew her. And ran away. To a far away place.

A place far away from earth. A place she would love to visit. Just to tell him once more that she was sorry. For not possessing qualities that exceeded human excellence. Qualities that were born out of the necessities of life. Or rather things or experiences that deepened our emotional intelligence.

"You look ill. What is it now?"

"Jealousy", she deadpans.

Oscar looks at her. A forever rebellious glint in his eyes. He's only nineteen. Lanky and boney. But more intact and present than she'll ever be or that's what she likes to say. He's sporting a dramatic red lip and a black cat eye sharper than her line of sight itself. He looks good in his dress shirt and formal pants. Suede shoes that were identical to her's.

He smirks. "Listen girl, jealousy ages you. Makes you more paranoid. Let him go. And focus on holding onto people who actually need you. People like-".

"Sven." They say in unison. A sense of determination overcomes both of them.

She goes into dreamland. "In another world he'd know just how determined we are to find him. If he actually wants to be found."

Oscar looks at her the way the walls of her dingy apartment look at her. Like she's a lost soul. A vessel that long left the shore, destined to be wrecked in the middle of nowhere. A vessel whose tarp is at the mercy of the winds. At the mercy of earth and the wonders of its natural phenomena.

Then he walks away and turns on the jukebox.

When the music plays she forgets it all. All the pain. The jealousy. The self-hatred. She remembers only one thing, the solitude of silence cajoules in all of us a sense of reflection that can be beautiful, but in noise we find a universal humanity that makes us feel as though we belong.

She sashays to the music as they both prepare the cafe for opening. They grind the coffee beans, steam the plant and nut milks, wipe down the counters. And they work. They work as the jukebox blares it's beautiful noise and their reminded that they aren't alone after all. Just lonely.

Just lonely.

Oscar. Well the story of Oscar is very complicated. He was a boy, but the truth is. He wasn't. Biologically he was a female. A woman. With breasts and hips and all the other things that makes women, well , women. He got bullied a lot for it. But he loved the freedom and authority and power that came with being a man.

And loving women. And existing freely. As an enigma. A beautiful enigma.

Most things could be well said but the thing about Oscar was that he couldn't be put into words. No monologue could do him justice. No page could capture his confidence. His grace. His presence.

Light. Abundance. Generosity.

Even those verbs don't capture the magnitude in which he possesed them. He was a dancer by night and a barista by day. A person who lived multiple lives all in one. A person who had a holistic set of perspectives on everything.

*
I wanted to refer to you as mine
But I'll refer to you as you to preserve your individuality
To give you the freedom to build your way up beyond the stratosphere and kiss the sky the way you were meant to
Today is my last day writing you a letter
And probably the beginning of a lifetime of only loving you more each day
I can't let go you, not just yet.