Anca Dunavete

In my world, I listen to my truth on every radio, decorate the walls with beautiful paintings of my most precious memories, and have large windows in every room. From here, you can see right into me. Those trees over there? I have so many stories about the ones who planted them. And the pool? I built that myself, out of all the times I wanted to drown in it. The mountains in the distance? Ah, that one’s for later, much later. But if you stay, I’ll tell you everything. It will just take a little while. Are you ready?

Here, I meet you in smoky bars. You wear a brown hat and the kind of clothes I wish men would wear more often. A cigarette dangles from your lips, which you take out every time you smile at me. You look kind and gentle and tell me story after story, teaching me how to love after a storm. I get us more drinks and laugh at all your jokes because you’re exciting, mad, and pure – and I always recognise others like me, or the me I wanted to be outside of this place. Listening to you is like watching Heaven burst into flames – giving me the thrill of a lifetime in the safest of places. Please, don’t stop. What about the time when… ?

Ah, I almost forgot. I can’t stay long. Everything here is amplified to match the intensity of the world I want, and the flames get too big after a while. I’ll come find you again next time, and we’ll pick up where we left off. I do hate it when it’s closing time in my world, but I’d rather leave at the end of every show than never make it in at all. Because every now and then, as the curtain falls behind me, a little warmth escapes into real life with me – keeping me warm for a while as I move through the world. And that alone is worth sneaking into utopia for, again and again.