Please, forget me. Let me slip away into the unknown. My routine was never comfortable, but it was the only life I knew. This has been disrupted, and I can no longer remember how to function. Without a king to rule, the kingdom collapses. Let me rest with him. Or, if he does not rest, let us explore the world behind the veil together.
With shame, I say that I want to die. There is no energy to plan. No words to write in the note I must leave behind. If it is possible to be happy again, I refuse its entrance. Give it to another who would appreciate it. Let the person fill their heart with it. A heart they would share more than I was ever willing.
Uncle Enrique is dying. How ungrateful I feel. I look to end what he hopes to extend. Every minute robs me of something. Take my failing eyes. Break my fingers in ten places. Pulse out a broken sexuality. Crush dreams I held for too long.
No, I cannot do this. Death has taken my hellhound. It has taken the mother I knew in aunt Arminda. It has taken my gentle Americo. Now, it wants to take the father I knew in uncle Enrique, and so easily I would hand myself over to it? Be steady, Elizabeth. Do not be taken by the storm.
We are all one missed meal away from becoming savages. One slight away from causing irreparable damage. One failure away from leaving humanity as a hermit, or a corpse. I am an old little girl. I was sitting on a wicker chair, sharing my thoughts with my mother, who never listened. I blinked once, then twice. I am an old little girl.
My arms, my face fill with a fever. My torso, my legs are undecided. There is nothing to be felt below the waist. This skin of mine smells like a woman I once knew. This is not my scent. I think I have become her, when I could not develop as it was meant. It is all an illusion, but not a safe one. It is the insanity of someone who has always demanded absolutes. It if it not good, as it rarely is, then it is bad. It is very, very bad.
The weak ones want to feel as they do when they are sleep. Count me among them. Do not trust me with the wood. It is too heavy for me. I will wait until the village is established, then I will complain of it. The beds are hard, and the laws are rough.
I have not loved much, this is true, but have I been loved?
To an outsider, a woman clasping hands with two girls, they will assume are my daughters, must look beautiful. We walk in the evenings, though the little king is missing. In his place, a mutt that resembles a bruised russet potato. After, I take them out for hot chocolate, and we play games at the coffee shop. We must look so lovely then, too. But, I can see the children’s pain. I am not enough. The night is dark, because their pain rises to the surface.
If a feeling is not underlined, it is ignored. Relationships are underdeveloped, then forgotten. I have no time to give what cannot immediately prove its importance. Here is a man if I want him, but I will not bring myself to give him the attention he needs. Here are friends that slowly forget how to pronounce my name. Everyone is beginning to think they have imagined me. There is nothing to give. There is no way inside me. Once more, I belong to the children.
It is not possible to evade what has become my responsibility. My faith is placed in another, any other. Formed by specters in the hills of Wallachia. Magically appearing in the main square of Linköping. A curse’s filthy residue. I do not care how you came to be, just rescue me. My bags are packed, my resolve is firm. We will build things together, and they will forever be yours and mine.
Whether I am running hard enough to cause the earth to shake, or standing firm in a warrior’s pose, I should honor my legs. Ready to defend; ready to attack. I am growing out like a plant, and my shoes were all made in China by famished children, who dream of golden chariots. Something has ended, but what is new cannot push through. I am like a snake that needs help shedding its skin.
Angelina draws pictures of babies in coffins, and I think, what a good mother I have become. She speaks of the whispers she does not hear, but wants to. We look at the moon together, we laugh at the same volume, we dance like convulsing monkeys. Oh, what a good mother I have become. She chooses black, because she thinks it is my favorite color. She says she wants to be like me, but also like herself. She does not like to read, and she will not eat her vegetables. What a good mother I have become.
Sometimes, you invest so much, but see no return. You want it all, and watch as someone else eats it whole. Wide-eyed incredulity will only make a woman look like a porcelain doll. Do not look up to anyone, or they will think themselves your sun, and burn right through you.
You are reversed, King of Swords. Drowning in your own confusion. Realized on the first of June, and disgraced by the authority of the blood moon. There is no love so great, it will remain when there is nothing left to hang on to, but a trembling hand. We are made to take, and forced to give.
The ravens say that even Odin could not prevent Ragnarok. If you know a rebirth is to your benefit, you will still do anything you can to prevent the pain that change brings. Creature of habit, self-saboteur. The heavens produce blessings, and there you are, hiding in the attic. The air is musty, the humidity hangs heavy. Love is carried in the left wing, and success in the right. They beat to get your attention, and still you hide. What is an offering, other than what you asked for, or what it is believed you wanted.
All this time, I have spent as the Hanged Man. I have sought clarity, and strength. There was hope that the sacrifices I made, would amount to something. Yet, when I notice a desire is within reach, I writhe until I have turned myself away from it. I am scared. I am always so scared. I scream to feel powerful. Destroy to feel in control. Do not trust, never being taught how to lovingly surrender.