How to Paint Our Skies

How to Find Muses

Dear Fin,

    The electricity turned off in my apartment today.

    It has been unbearable. There are no lights or warmth. As soon as I came home to this dismal icy darkness, I curled up beneath all the blankets I could manage to find and lit a candle. And then I got this piece of paper and a pen because I wanted to talk to you. Because . . . well, I have no one else to talk to at the moment.

    There's nothing more in the world that I want more than you. I want you to hold my hand and wrap your arms around me, to press my head to your chest so I can hear the rhythmic beating of your heart, to kiss me like I'm the only girl in the world.

    But that's never going to happen because you have her. You don't need me when you have everything you've ever wanted. Why have me, a measly light bulb, when you can have the sun itself? I am no radiant, I am not spectacular, I am not her. I am me. Why does everything have to remind me of that?

    These torturous thoughts have ravaged my brain in this horrid apartment, as I sit in the cold and dark. I feel so alone, or even less than that. Because in the darkness, even your shadow leaves you. I am less than alone, because I don't even like myself. You're the only person who has ever truly liked me, without necessity. So why did you leave?

    Encounter Number Nineteen:

    You showed up at my house.

    I slammed the door in your face.

    End of Encounter Number Nineteen.

    Encounter Number Twenty:

    At school, you pleaded me; you wanted forgiveness for your sins, you wanted me back. You missed me, you're worried about me.

    I went home, feigning illness.

    End of Encounter Number Twenty.

    You're waiting for me as I arrived at the therapist's office, the one I was going to because of you. You're sitting in a chair in the receptionists' area, rocking on your heels, your elbows pressed against your knees. Your eyes lightened as soon as you saw me.

    I ignored you.

    I announced my arrival to the secretary, who was all smiles and sympathy and gum chewing. I hated her. I sat down as close to her table, hoping to avoid you and your gaze.

    The sharp green of your eyes found my, locked onto me, and you smiled. That sheepish smile that arose every positive feeling I could think of. That smile that-

    No, I inwardly cursed myself. I couldn't fall under your spell.

    Soon, Dr. Howards appeared in the doorway. He was nothing like his secretary; he was frowns and doubt and smelly breath. But I preferred him that way, because at least he was realistic and rational, unlike his airhead of a secretary.

    I went in.

    I bared my soul.

    I came out.

    You're still there, waiting for me. You smiled, sheepishly, hoping to catch my attention. And for a moment, I wanted to forgive you. But I was selfish. I was scared. I was a Martin and Martin's always did the wrong thing (with the exclusion of my father).

    So I left, without a word to you.

    Encounter Number Twenty-One:

    At school, I fold a little box sitting in my locker. It was wrapped in wrapping paper adorned in little doves and I couldn't help but smile, even though I wanted to be mad. And slightly crept because since when had you known my locker combination? Regardless, you didn't bother me and I didn't open it until I had my spare.