she didn't know how to start. much less, how to finish. all she knew was lack of motion, an ocean of feelings, an abysmal darkness that swallowed her whole. she just wanted to be alone. to be shrouded in darkness, enveloped in the void of a black hole. for time to stop. to be greeted again and again by relentless silence.
where did the magic go? when did the fresh faced madness of wonder escape her soul? it wouldn't be long, she told herself. soon, she would come up for air and unfriend the sadness that held her close.
wrapped in a lilac silk sheet, she slept soundly, swaying gently in the net suspended between two young trees, shrouded by thousands of bright summer leaves. she spent a lot of time on that hammock these days. at times abandoning her bed for days and nights completely. she enjoyed the pull of the earth beneath her, that feeling of being held by nature, as would a spider suspended in its web. more than that, she loved the way the wind would rip through the branches and leaves, caressing her shoulders and feet, rocking her back to sleep. and if there was one thing she knew she wanted, it was sleep.
this feeling was all too familiar. by now she was well acquainted with the cycles of her psyche. it was too easy to drift into melancholy. this time she'd fought against it, the best she could. she really did. yet, in the exhaustion of fighting, she let go and slipped into the grayish blackness of nothingness that made its home in her home.
it was stupid, she knew. yet there was no strength left in her to change her mind, shift her perspective. she'd felt fine, until the explosion of thoughts and weariness about jobs overtook her completely. the only way to stop them was to sleep.
often when she'd sleep she'd dream deeply. at times waking up and dipping back into the same dream like hands dipping into a bowl-full of smooth marbles.
this time, she did her best to be present. accept that she was sleepy even though she'd slept all day, accept that writing was the reason she'd make it through the day, accept that she could go hungry, but always had to have her amsterdam shag and raw hemp papers handy. she didn't have to eat, but she must smoke. she would smoke, no matter what.
her eyes felt dry and tired. she wanted to stop writing. yet she knew she couldn't. that it was the only thing that would make her waking hours worth it. that it would distract her from the fact that she wasn't sure where the rent would come from. for half a second, she thought about sharing her body for money. maybe a rich old guy who just wants to fuck and philosophize.
no. that wouldn't do. it just went completely against her sense of integrity. she would never.
she also knew better than to ever say never. five thousand dollars for a quick fuck? there was a time where she would never consider doing this for even less than five or six figures. but, it had been well over a year since she'd had sex and she figured she'd rather get paid to satisfy the craving. this train of thought was dangerous. still, the humor lightened her mood and she got up to roll a cigarette.
she always rolled her own cigarettes. she liked to roll and she liked that particular brand of tobacco. she wouldn't smoke anything else. the boys outside were finally gone so she stepped back out to smoke and write. the cigarette was good and the night felt right. she'd become completely nocturnal. sleeping by day outside, writing by night.
everything was still at night. it was easy for her to escape the bustling noises of her roommates and the nonsense that went on inside. the only thing she really loved about this place was her room, mostly because of the backyard. aside from her roommate downstairs, who hardly went out there, she was the only one who had access to the magical enclave outside. it was her only attachment to the space. without it, even the sunny room would feel like a cage, a brightly lit trap.
the lights were on in the backroom of 3R. she wondered when the lights would go out, and when they did, if the moaning would start. last night, as she lay in the hammock, the sounds of passionate lovemaking bounced around the trees and leaves, interrupting her nap. she lay still and listened. it was a bit voyeuristic of her and she enjoyed being an unseen part of that sound. she'd forgotten what lovemaking was like and she wondered when her time would come around.
it wasn't like she couldn't have sex. she could at anytime. she was a gorgeous girl. she could have any man she wanted, but none of the ones she wanted came around. this had more to do with her: she hardly ever went out. there were times where she seldom crossed the threshold of her front door, living between her bedroom and her backyard. what kind of life is that?
in truth it was the life she wanted. in her early twenties she'd spent a lot of time out, moving from place to place searching for the feeling of home that would keep her from going out. she had finally found it a couple of times. and when she did she’d hold on tightly, until the time had come to move on.
by twenty seven she'd become somewhat of an expert at moving on. though it can be said that she could have stood to be more adept at it, moving on faster than it had taken her to latch on. in the end all that mattered was that she was better at it and all the better for it. there was little use in holding onto people and things that have already moved on without her, often leaving her behind. nope, not a single text message, not one in all that time. it had only been a little over a month. but, damn, it felt like a long time. she regretted being so open, so free in her nurturing of a man who was hardly a man and more like a boy in most ways but one.
he was tall, statuesque with a voice that reverberated deeper than any she had known. his voice had a way of passing through her, unsettling her soul. she remembered how much she had liked him, how much more it was the idea of him than the man behind the face. yes. it was the idea of him, the storm of emotions she felt being near him that she liked best of all. in the end, that realization was what made it easiest to let him go, though of course not without humiliating herself first.
she wondered whether she'd ever grow out of that habit. insisting and trying when it was easily obvious they'd grown tired of her.
she wanted to smoke again. she knew how heavily she leaned on cigarettes to fill that empty, gaping hole. still, no matter how much smoke filled her lungs she would only feel more empty, more vulnerable than she did before.
she lay down on her bed and propped a silk covered pillow under her cheek. the house was finally dark. she hadn't bothered to turn on her lights and her roommates had finally turned theirs out. it was then, completely in the dark that she felt relief, a feeling that everything would turn out alright. after all, everything always worked out for her.
“everything always works out for me”, she used to say, everyday. and she would believe it. because it was true. still, today she wasn't so sure how it could. all the same, in spite of how she felt, she new that it would work out anyway. that it had to. in the meantime, she'd sit outside and smoke about it.
for someone who actually said so little out loud, she never ran out of things to say on paper. her mind was full. and perhaps that was part of the problem. she was a person of extremes. at times craving complete isolation and at others overwhelmingly desirous of verbal exchange. she could go on forever, turning the wheels in her mind.
she didn't want to be a vegetable. she didn't want to lose herself in the twisted caverns of her mind. neither did she want to lose herself in anyone else. which was partly the reason she kept herself apart from sex, flirtation and the like. she always fell for the wrong guy. always for the same reason, though each was wrong for her in his own way.
she sat in the corner chair of her room, thinking about them, as she filled her room with smoke. by now she had figured out that being in love wasn't the same as falling in it. she'd realized the senseless part was to fall. but to be in love, that was a beautiful thing. that she did know.
she stepped outside. the moon loomed brightly overhead, keeping a watchful eye on the girl below. that was the beauty of the moon, though the girl knew herself to be a woman, the luminous moon in all her wisdom and kindness would always keep her close, shrouded in her innocence.
[by] luna elisa granados, jul 2016
[series] the great void
[image] @jarek_kubicki, instagram
