Anca Dunavete

In the beginning, he taught me about fear. I liked that one, so I decided to remember it.

‘Why do you speak of fear in the third person? Fear has no identity. You are the fear.’

He also taught me about the ugly side of love. I hated that one, so I can’t seem to forget it.

‘I have never felt suffocated by your presence,’ I said, my voice quieter than before.

He kissed me gently, and that hurt the most. I knew I had no power over him.

‘That’s because you don’t have a world of your own, baby. That’s why you were so eager to make room in mine. But here you’re just a visitor, no matter how many times you try to dust it off, buy matching curtains, or bring your stuff in.

‘The next morning, it’s all gone. It’s built on a foundation you’ll never fully understand, and you’ll always be cold and hungry inside. There’s nothing here for you, because everything was made for me. Are you happy sleeping on the couch, night after night?’

The paths we walk with someone can become such tangled, knotted messes.

✦

There’s a certain beauty in painting outside the lines, too. Outstretching your arms for things at top volume, at their most difficult, at their most needlessly complex, only to remind yourself that you are alive, that you are fresh, that you are worth fighting for.

You marvel at your own fire and every What’s so wrong with it? fades away. You wonder what it takes for others to see what you see. You know it’s there to light the way, not to burn them.

But not everyone can love it like you do, and it takes a long time for you to accept that. When all parts of you are constantly on fire, it’s only a matter of time before you can’t hide anymore. Until they start catching glimpses and end up deciding for you whether you are radiant or too much.

Over time, you start to love it less because of it. You think you don’t need it as much. You think you can see ahead just fine without your own light to guide you, because don’t they know better? Don’t you love them more? Wouldn’t you like to follow them, if only you could put out your fire first?

So you think you can fool them into thinking you are this watered-down version of yourself that’s easy to love. So easy to love that they will just do it. You refine it to pure, quiet perfection. What’s not to love about it? When it gets quiet, you ask yourself the opposite.

It’s so dead, you think, no wonder they don’t love me. Eventually, you’ll light up again. You won’t be able to see your way out of the darkness otherwise. But it takes you a long time.

✦

One evening, towards the end, I stood at the window and looked at our reflection (as if watching an old film, knowing full well that the actors were now dead), when he told me that he liked my silence.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘This. Sitting in silence, like this.’

I wasn’t sure what to say. I mean, I liked sitting in silence from time to time, sure. I liked his arms wrapped tightly around me. I liked the intimacies we shared – the hands and breaths and little secrets I could never write about. Mostly, he was good-natured when I didn’t push too hard, and his sleepy voice made me smile, and the stories about our half made-up past made everyone laugh.

But there was always something missing. I was always missing.

If you liked my fire too, maybe we could come alive again, I thought.

Soon after, I could see it written all over the screen:

‘The end.’