the innkeeper's daughter

 im sitting at the table with an orange in my hand. i have bought this orange. 

i don't like pinching objects anymore.

i dig my nails into the thick peel of the orange, and pull on it. underneath it is bright copper. like how the sky looks at 3pm on a summer day. and there is white venation scattered over it.

a living breathing creature. 

i peel the rest of its clothing off. 

all in quiet.

when i put a section of it into my mouth, i thank the universe around me.

for giving me the honest simplicity of an orange.

stripped of its metaphors and meanings

just an orange.

-

at 17 i smile at the same song i smiled 

at 11

on my own thinking if i could

id be Kathy and make this bus a greyhound

at 12

and this sun would always stay down

and there would be so much time for us

time for us

my hand's out, i wanna throw my cards now

making your name our hometown

at 13

so stay young

i know that I'm talking too much

and ill get nowhere tryna do it at once

but oh my God, i wanna be someone

at 14

so stay young

with me, 'cause i hope that it's you

that ill break my back tryna run home to

at 15

because oh my God, I want you to be the one

at 16

we'll stay young, until we wanna be old

electric blankets so we're never cold

'cause you have always been my ticket home

at 17

but right now it's just me

and steel strings, lonely (stay young)

so when i miss you it is slowly

'cause i'm doing good here mostly on my own

i don't want to go to prison.

i want to visit nice libraries and make friends in nice bakeries and fall in love with someone on the metro.

-

i have always tried my best to not give anything an ugly epilogue. 

be it an essay. be it a human being. be it a painting.

sometimes i know when to stop exactly. sometimes i go on writing. on and on. or i go on adding details. or i review it again and again and make it better. i go on trying to leave the best sentence in the end.

once i wrote : we can meet far, far from home. but when i return i return alone.

it was a nice sentence.

still, i changed it. and the epilogue i was trying to write in itself became a story. 

and i didn't know what to write. i just went with my gut. (lies. she went with the wind. her gut said no.)

we met far far from home

then at home

but im still returning alone.

it didn't sound nice anymore.

we met far  far  far from home.

and i never wanted to return alone.

i wish i had stopped at my sentence.

nobody likes an epilogue. when i wrote that sentence only ma liked it. she keeps living in epilogues, perhaps. 

i wonder how i'd write it now.

i met you once far from home.

then

i returned alone.

and on the way, i returned all that i had received.

this became the undoing of a thief.

-

there are very few things in this world that disgust me. 

there is

force.

(nauseating fearful insistent aggressiveness, a direct order dressed as plea, a right now right NOW)

there is

a pyrrhic victory.

(an angering sickening defeat that is called a win. dear god, if this is victory i would rather lose.)

there is

a mamihlapinatapai.

(an infuriating sorry glance between two cowards. you go first. no you. both choose to let go of a story with such potential such profit)

there is

projection.

(adamant screaming at the sky calling it a psychopathic villain.)

there is

passivity.

(loud empathy snuffed out in the face of embarrassment. repulsive. revolting.)

but there are so many things i find to be reassuring.

there is

waldosia

(the unconscious spotting in a crowd for someone who has no reason to be there. the brain patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day)

there is

the paradox of tolerance

(if a society's practice of toleration includes the intolerant, intolerance will ultimately dominate, eliminating both the tolerant and the practice of tolerance.)

-

"when will you eat this."

"i will can you just keep it"

"it's been 2 days you can't just peel and leave it open."

i'll eat it. i just, don't want to anymore. but i will, because i said i would ma.

-

please don't fall in love with anyone. none of them love as you do. none of them

none.

none.

none.

none.

and you can never explain something that is intangible.

none.

none.

nobody has really ever been in love with you. 

none.

none.

none of them have seen what you have.

none.

none.

please don't show them. they'll love it before they get scared.

they'll go starry eyed

and then they'll go away

and you'll keep saying it's okay.

you'll keep

apologising.

there's nothing to reach for.

it's over.

keep your hands in your damn pockets.

you don't need to understand everything.

-

to someone who does not know how i am.

oh i don't fall in love. and i don't run from anything.

that's always been me.

i live in a tiny cottage far from the city. 

and sometimes i get sent packages i do not ask for. i request a send back. no one ever likes that.

so i keep it.

and i nourish it and give it a room in my already cramped house.

and i grow used to it. it becomes a part of the home i come back to every night.

and one day a stranger enters my home when i'm not there,

and takes it away. 

i almost never get to say goodbye.

i let go of everything. against my wishes. screaming. crying. begging. pleading. on my knees.

i let go of glances. 

let go of touch.

go of laughter.

of comfort.

love.

understanding that it shall cross the whole world twice over

but it will never come back to me.

and i break 

one last time.

i ask god one more time

please lord

don't let me forgive

and

don't let me forget

-

god looks at me and asks me to send a letter. as if i've not written enough.

i still comply. it is god, what do you expect ?

a letter from the innkeeper's daughter-

to you who has visited my inn last winter, you left your socks here. 

this may be deemed inappropriate to a guest, but i do miss you here. i might have misunderstood when you had taken the cabin to stay for a while. 

if not stay, visit.

you no longer visit. and i have forgotten your address. perhaps this letter shan't reach you at all.

i have forgotten your touch too.

i am starting to forget your voice.

in time i shall forget that you are gone for good.

it is another winter now. 

i no longer keep an inn.

i have not met someone as afraid of the innkeeper's daughter. i hope you smile when you realise that the reason i do not keep things, is because 

almost all of them disappear when i am asleep at night.

i'd rather not let something stay with me. the pain is unbearable when i am unprepared.

dearest guest, i hope you'll remember the love.

and i hope you enjoyed your stay.

.

                                                 flaming june (orange girl) - fredrick leighton