TEN (LONDON)
I. Confession: When I was young, I would hide in my parents' living room in the afternoon, nestled in between the big fading yellow couch and the red armchair, and wait to grow wings. I did so good in my waiting, you would think I was dead save for the way my body stayed so rigid. I should definitely think death to be more loose. Anyway, now I can wait like a corpse for hours if necessary (I have done it before). Comme une image. With my head lifted high, just because.
II. I fell ill at 14. Bedridden, with weariness fossilising down my chest for a year. The whole lethargic affair. I’m better now, loads. There is something pleasant about reminiscing on times like these even if I don't remember much of it. Confession: I remember nothing of my youth, and sometimes I worry I simply spawned naked and angry one day a couple of years ago and have just deluded myself into believing I had a real body.
III. I never had a grandfather. Not really.
IV. You would think the rigour of Catholic school would set me right after fifteen years, but we never had a priest, strangely. No real confession, no wooden box to hide into like an early coffin, and when I spoke my voice echoed off the peeling walls. I sang chants of Christ in the morning and saw a nun die at 10. I loved you, then. More than God.
V. Remember when you touched me, and I asked how you were doing twice in a row because I didn't know what else to say. I loved only you, but I was still so young, what did I know of love, really? I would’ve told you, I would've, but we were crammed in together. Really, our seclusion was our doom. Confession: I think you might’ve loved me, too. Of course, it may not be true, but nothing I say has to be, it is only said in the void of the space between you and me, from my lips, a sound, and you’ll hear it, too.
VI. A year ago today I graduated. I am not seventeen anymore. That is true enough, only because I can't lie about it. I was so afraid to speak in front of everybody that I forgot you were watching me. I just don't care lately. I am not seventeen, and where I’m from summer doesn't bring warmth anymore. It is just heat.
VII. I would’ve told you, had you kissed me.
VIII. Confession: All I ever do is lie. Real little devil, and all for show, really. But you knew that. I know you did.
IX. I haven't spoken to my father in a week. I have been told I expect a lot from people, too much, but frankly I think it is a wonder we don’t wake up everyday clutching our hair and wailing from the felt void made by needing (or, alternatively, hiding in between yellow couches) (and also, who looks at a yellow couch and thinks this is what I want in my home). And anyway, both my parents kneel and pray morning and night and I never reproach God for needing too much.
X. Today, I sit and write this. Tomorrow, I lose myself in something else. I don't love you anymore. Confession: My wings are grown now, full size, so I will go. I only leave this here with you, from my heart, words, and you’ll feel them, too. Infinitely.
Avrey, 18, Beirut - Lebanon ✯ IG: @aveinspace
“Less tired now.”