#always a

Janhueary - Day 9

Hi, it’s me again. I think you don’t remember me from the last time and maybe that’s because I had a different name and I looked different too, slightly taller, my eyes were dark brown and my skin was fairer. I still remember the sound of your voice, how the whispers of your breath tickle the seams of my neck and ears. I remember the way your fingers detailed our encounter – up and down the bumps of my back the crevices of my stomach.

You are lavender and I am honey, the sweet and slow kind of affliction.

But today, right now, I show you a different version of me, the one with long red hair and the lingering scent of smoke stuck to my fingertips and wrists – remnants of a rough night but also evidence of another battle won against the demons that haunt me. Quite the opposite but also exactly what you want in this moment – a hint of danger and risk.

These hands are not the same as before, obviously you see that, but I tell you: this is me. I swear this is still me.

Look closely; I am hidden in plain sight: the unruly knocks that greet your door at three in the morning, my lightning and thunder. The ruffled hair that smiles at you by the condo’s window side, I mean, if you’re lucky to wake up and I’m still there. Bittersweet burnt breakfast and cold coffee on the table, I mean, if you’re lucky enough that I feel like staying that long but if not, that’s alright.

You need not worry for sooner or later you will come to realize that I am not a loss, for this is who I am.

My name is the one that echoes along with a dozen heartbreaks or if I remember correctly, more. The echoes are accompanied by the sound of shattered glass and salty tears beside the shore. For some, my name also comes with cigarette burns on both arms and legs (and actually a lot of other places but I’d rather not tell you). I guess no one has ever mentioned how clumsy drunk hearts are. 

I am she who skips from person to person. My hands are porcelain – beautiful and extremely fragile. You can look, you may touch, and you can admire but never hold. These hands were not made to be held neither were they made to hold you nor any other who claims to be more than just a one night lover. These porcelain hands are rare, not many are privileged to see them, but really, consider it a blessing if you don’t because these porcelain hands are also skilled in creating, from a simple web of lies to a full blanket of warm deception served with a side of interlaced fingers and sweat beading down your chest.

My mouth is home to the best story teller that money cannot afford. Yes, cash is not accepted here, it’s either complete vulnerability or utter emotional demise, pick your poison both are free.

Would you like to know about how things went down with Ben? The one who thought blue eyes were enough to trance me. Or if that’s not your style, let’s talk about Paul and last Friday night – a rush for midnight sensation. Emma with the shivering knees that practically asked me if I could stay longer, if I could be the comfort she wanted. Or, Camille, confusion at its finest; she wanted me to leave so bad that it made me want to stay but, no. In the end, no, that is not me.

Tell me, who? I am the story teller, I know everything about anyone. Their stories are embedded on the back of my tongue and their names are dangling at the tip of it. You’d be surprised, there’s still a lot for you to find out. 

If you think it’s not real and you’re wondering how, come and see for yourself. I give the permission to ask me how I do it all but that is of course if you remember why you came in the first place. I am also the charmer – beautiful deception.

I, who will leave you marred for the rest of your existence. Trailing fingerprints scattered all over your body, tattooed to remind you that I was there. I have explored your uncharted waters and despite the attempt of your denial, you cannot, because my marks cannot be concealed and that is my gift, no matter what angle you look at it, it is my gift.

I promise you will never forget me, not even if you tried.

That is somehow ironic though because you never really know that it’s me. Countless versions of the same scene, different names, and different faces, but let me assure you, it has always been me. From the first time up until the most recent one, it is me.

Right now, you’re at the edge of your bed, scrolling through your dead timeline and casually checking for my replies. Don’t worry, I’m coming. I am never late and you know that too well.

You wait for my knock or maybe my hello, whichever I feel like doing. You wait.

And when I finally arrive, remember, it is once again my pleasure to be your company this evening. Enjoy yourself, breathe out the universe for a while because this moment is our reality, the escape you’ve been longing for, and yes, this is me.

1. Who do you ship? 

     a) Snowbaz