Updated: Apr 17, 2019
The letters inundate her consciousness—grenades, eradicating every concept of herself she had ever known. A gift, an invitation, she had always hoped to receive; a permission slip to an outing from which she never wanted to return. It was signed by a woman who wished her out of existence, into a different dimension altogether. What a beautiful offering.
She had many a time lowered the bong, enviously watching gaseous gold dissipating into the ether, the way she had always dreamed of doing. It was too much, some days, pretending her lungs didn’t feel the heaviness of breathing for others.
Much to evanesce; she longed to set parts of herself on fire, releasing them into the greater consciousness, into the hands of a source that would know what to do with them. She considered the irony, the paradox of wishes. Now, the long-anticipated invitation filled her with dread, as it became clear that she was finally ready to do just that—disappear.
But. Who would save the others? Who would carry the weight of their heavy hearts? Who would draw their breaths if she vanished into the night, the way the smokey o’s she blew had always done?
Every time silence found her, the capitalized word danced through her empty mind, growing in magnitude, ever more daunting. D-I-S-A-P-P-E-A-R. The only possible salvation, unburdening her from assumed responsibilities and divinity-stifling guilt.
The word dug daggers into negative space between her rib-cage, prodding at her solar plexus, making each inhalation even more difficult to draw. Sometimes it’s harder to breathe for yourself than for others. She had subconsciously always known this.
disAPPEAR…it began to soften, as she did. “What if I don’t come out the other side?” “What if mirrors fail to recognize me?” “Who will love a person who chooses herself?”—I will, and they will, and the ones who don’t need saving.
Dreams tell stories and this one was vivid. She was the smoke, blown through delicate lips, vanishing without a trace, teleported into a galaxy where magic was currency and love was free.
Awake, the letters threaded themselves together, this time, glowing with the promise of liberation. She had, in retrospect, only ever been an illusion, so it shouldn't be that hard. Disappear. Okay, whatever you say. I'll be gone with this next hit. Without hesitation, without guilt, without fear.