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To have the wings to fly and roots to reach deep inside is to find beauty and tenderness amid the gravel and dust and the wound opens the rupture into a rapture.
— Jayita Bhattacharjee.

You arrived in the dark. I couldn’t see you. The driver dropped you two streets down from the apartment, and I could hear your voice calling my name. I was drowsy from drinking the cool stars. My body was brushed by lavender and hot water in the wide washtub. I had not been bathed in such exquisite tenderness in months.

I’m no prince.

The initial statement after a week of no communication. Three words that presented your inner monologue. Your life’s narrative in one simple sentence. I understood the contract of pleasure as a young girl. At fifteen, a mystic pulled nine cards to illustrate my past, present, and future. Each rectangular portrait bore a blade. The sword is my strength. The phallic shape reminds me of my physical lack, the seeking for an object I do not contain.

A secure and loving relationship can give us stability and comfort—but this is at odds with our equally strong need for adventure, novelty, and discovery. Paradoxically, we strive to have both connection and freedom, to be close and safe but also to fan the enticing white-hot flames of our desire. 

— Esther Perel. 

The penetration of intellect; I speak in metaphors with a split tongue. I seek playful spirits to spark my desire. I court freedom through the archetype of the revolutionary. Stability or liberty; there is no choice. The bluntness of the blade is contained in my speech. Don’t apologize, I said. Over and over. I wanted to console you, yet truth is not bound by pretty paper. Gift wrap, as Georgina would say.

You arrived in the dark. I couldn’t see you. As you surmounted the cement steps, your outline became more visible. Your hands were full, and we walked side by side through the mirrored hallways. You clung to your belongings. My hands swung at my sides. You became more acute and pronounced with each step. I perceived the rebellion and hid behind the cloak of my blond hair.

In the fleeting first moments, everything that would be undone was presented. You, apologizing. And me, quietly watching from my place at the window. You were not the first to call me by name, streetside in the dark. I was not careful with my heart the first time, and it was shattered when I fell.

I no longer wait at the window for my lovers.


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