I’m reclining and discontent. I’m massaging a balm onto my
face directly in front of the mirror: tapping, tap, tapping my hands,
impatiently waiting for a transformation to occur. I don’t like what I see: all
the wear and tear that does not fit into this life. A gaunt, mustard shade is
my skin, with sunken bits where nocturnal nights have begun to show. There’s a
splotchy redness from the liquid crystals and then there’s that perpetrator,
nausea. He’s settling in my stomach, taking hold as he does every night. He
knows his place just as he knows that I will forget who I am, almost
automatically tonight.
This is not a
new situation. Every day more of me slips casually away. One would think me a
tree permanently invested in autumn. Each day is another leave floating to the
dense, disdainful earth. At some point, winter will announce himself and steal
me wholly. I will unravel entirely and become this objective nothingness and
something in that is soothing.
Something about
losing it all, becoming completely engrossed in my own failures as a person
seems inviting. As though, I would finally be something (even if it is
something pathetic).
I’m dying
here. Ships are sailing every which way and I’m standing with a white flag, simply
waving. I’m not even waving frantically, just a “hello”, maybe a “how are you?”.
Simultaneously, I’m sinking. Down, down, down, below into Atlantis. The shore is only a few feet away and I know I
could manage it. In fact, I can envision my limbs guiding themselves through
the vast shades of blue, until my hands clinch the sand.
“Hold on”,
they’ll scream. “I see her. There goes life! Aye, she blows!” and I surely do.
I blow to the moon and then swing with stars for a bit. Gravity grabs my waist
and pulls me into him. He holds me as I grip onto his figure. Afraid that if I
let go, I’ll come crashing down into the damp darkness. Eventually, I grow too
relaxed. My grip lessens and he’s able to peel each of my fingers off gingerly.
He does so with the manners of a gentleman and I receive a fleeting love. But soon
enough, I find myself landing amongst the leaves I once had it out for. My
entire being plastered alongside their starburst expenditures. I am this
burning nothingness: equally raw and equivocally fooled.
--Badria
