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Be vulnerableuntil you are classified as open-source. Bring in results of understanding and acceptance. Be wounded so much you are capable of bleeding on every page and paper. Die in the arms of every new emotion, escaping its position only with confrontation. Because you foolishly thought you could become something.
Put your personality away, Phoebe. It isn’t safe to show it.
I try to think of all the reasons to go, but most of my sadness is confirmed at the loss of her belief now becoming mine.
Sometimes it hurts to breathe. Sometimes, I hold in a breath because I know the next will be harder to let go of. You’ll be harder to let go than holding on, Enzo. I’ll see you when I wake up. But I never choose to leave my dreams to meet you.
I’m always looking toward you, but you are always looking away. It’s not enough to say I love you, so we don’t ever say those words. But I ignore the fact you hunger for something outside of me.
Chapter 12
Phoebe
14.4974° N, 14.4524° W Senegal, Africa
Theworldisuntrue.
It takes me eleven hours and one minute to realize it. The plane ride isn’t the longest I have been on, but it is the most enlightening.
I say that in a way that makes my body shudder. Africa is everything I didn’t expect. There was no research beforehand; I wanted to be surprised; I wanted to beamazed. The simple idea of showing up has proven to be the best solution to my adventure-seeking soul.
So that is precisely what I do, I show up in a foreign country. With my camera backpack, I explore. I discover, and I try to pretend the ache in my belly isn’t from the absence of a man I thought loved me as much as I loved him.
Dakar is the bright beaming capital of Senegal. It has a life of its own, and I am envious of the community’s independence as it celebrates the culture and collaborative partnership of being alive. But I notice that Wolof happens to be spoken at a greater caliber. A little bit of French, I know, comes in handy.
There is a group of elder men from the city, men with very few words. The speech barrier is an issue between us, but it doesn’t restrict us from communicating. I shadow them all day. They walk the city like kings, princes holding the past memories and old ways. The religious domination is Muslim, and this community is devoted.
There would be a bruise growing on my broken heart if we faded away before we even got a chance to be one.
There is a heartbreaking cry that will always struggle in my throat to call out for help, but the pain would remind me of you, so I wouldn’t try to ease it. I would lose my words; they would die along with my muse, who has always been you. I think a part of me would crumble, the hopeful optimist. The one I try to reach, try to connect with, and touch. I think she may smile, but sway sadly on the days she tried to make the love of actual last longer.
I could let it break me. Like all the others that have come and gone, as the same for you. I can feel the amount of love, and I worry you will choose another to deceive.
“Kings Canyon, Kobuk Valley, Lake Clark, Lassen Volcanic, Mammoth Cave, Mesa Verde, Mount Rainier, National Park of American Samoa, New River Gorge, North Cascades.” I sing it while I sit next to a pink lake. It’s actually pink, Lac Retba, which means Pink Lake.
The high concentration of salt makes the shade appear in the water. An elderly man sits next to me as I sing the national parks. I think he must think I am crazy, but I probably am.
After loving you, how can anyone be sane?
The cultures of various places come together to make the perfect taste. Senegal is known for its cuisine. Fish and rice are the primary dishes for the community.
There are farm animals, like sheep and goats, everywhere. During one of their holidays, I learn that they sacrifice one of the male sheep as an offering to their God.
I should explore; I should find the highest point in town and sit there and stare at this new land. But I can’t seem to find the motivation. I can’t seem to find my sense of adventure. Is the heartbreak still messing with my spirit? Is my mind still telling my body it is sad and tired?
I’ve never gone through heartbreak before, so you tell me, Enzo. Is staring into oblivion a correct response to how you deserted me in Montana?
I want to love this place. I want to join in dancing with a few children in the streets. I want to sit next to their mothers as they show me how to make something with my hands. Get my feet dirty as we race down alleyways.
Enzo, I want to forget that I am lonely, and that being alone was never a problem until you came and went.
Music should be playing; I should find it. If I did find it, I would sit among the people. Instead of asking their stories, I might share my own. Because, as you know, there is always someone celebrating something around the world.
First, I would tell them it is never a good idea to be naked in Nepal during the afternoon when the sun is high. I might even tell them about you. I think they might know my smiles are always sincere, even when sad. I would watch some women cook while others tied bracelets. If they let me, I might stay for a few hours and belong to them.
Did you know the singer, Akon, is Senegalese? Do you remember that song from high school? I wonder if he walked these streets like I am, lost, trying to make a purpose. I wonder where he got his inspiration, along the rivers, in the mountains, or in his home.
We often view celebrities as one thing: famous. But I don’t think we realize what it took, how many years of pain to make it where they are today. What abuse they went through, what trials of unspeakable circumstance they overcame.
