Pure at heart
Today Albert Camus died.
Last night I lost myself again – all that anger turned into fear, all that loneliness turned into rage, all that breath turned into dusty words that go deeper and deeper, like the oldest dagger ever to be found in my pockets. I find money in my pockets, forgotten objects that I leave behind like my souls, multiple instances that seek forgiveness from the same ruthless Father. Remember yourself laughing Jenny, remember the juice running on your shoulders, your hair getting sticky – he was laughing – remember how much you loved him, Jenny – remember how much we loved him – remember his face, remember him crying, lying on the floor – too drunk to move, tired, tiresome, handsome.
Jenny, you ran from the party – Jenny – you dragged that yellow boat and woke up in the middle of the ocean. You woke up and looked around – there was only water and then you went back to sleep.
Jenny, last night I woke up in the middle of the ocean, but I could not go back to sleep. I woke up and there was water all around me and I was nowhere to be found. I woke up in the middle of the ocean and I jumped out of that fucking yellow boat – Jenny – can you hear me, Jenny – I cannot squeeze my soul out of my body and replace it with sharp edged objects – I cannot cut myself from life – oh, but how I wished I could do it.
Last night I could not get out of a house which was not my own – they were softly sleeping – I was afraid to wake them up – I could not reach myself – my heart was beating so fast and so hard, my whole face was burning – I kept telling myself – look in the mirror, little girl, take a good look at yourself – maybe you’ll remember who you were until just now. I looked in the mirror – vaguely familar features – my face is swollen, my life is swollen, hurt to the bone. Jenny, I had to get out of myself, Jenny – I wanted to run – there was so much life still inside me – all I wanted was to get out of there, jump into a cab, arrive at his place and scream and shout and kick his door open, place my useless insides in front of him – my broken black liver, my yellow melted heart, my fractured ribbs, my dry bones, my dry skin, the driest veins.
Jenny – you have spilled your life in front of strangers and you have forgotten to pick up a new one.
Jenny – do not go back to sleep, there’s an infinte ocean below you.
Jump, you have to jump and hold your breath.
You have to open your eyes widely and watch all the ships you have sinked – their shape, the bodies that still hang onto them.
You have to swim until your arms hurt, you have to swim underwater until the waves finally throw you on the sand.
Then you can rest your head on the shore and go back to sleep.
P.S : See what you have done to me, dear Jenny? You have made me wear my fears on the outside : my face turned into an expresionless portrait of an abused child – hot pink cheeks, hot pink lipstick – leather heels and glittery, crystal sadness – my earings are made of plastic, my dreams are made of plastic – my skin is made of sad stories about getting hurt – my body is too tired to reflect clean, unstained beauty – and I am always one step from turning my guilt into ruthlessness.
* imaginary dialogue with Jenny Schecter, my recently found alter ego from The L word
photos by Ionut Sterpan