Am I A Creature Of Love Or Of Malice?This Ache Of Mine, Why Must It Persist?

Am I a creature of love or of malice? This ache of mine, why must it persist?

"Books are a narcotic." - Franz Kafka

"Gasping, dying but somehow still alive" - Well I Wonder, The Smiths

(all photos are mine)

Song: You'll Never Get to Heaven - Beyond the Clouds

Reflections After Jane

By Ingrid Gomez

"Do you still perform autopsies on conversations you've had lives ago?" -Donte Collins 

The streets were scattered with individuals walking, biking, and driving in every which way; The song of everyday chatter was imminent. Coffee in hand, Jane paced through the streets and wove her way through town until she found it; on the corner of Condor Avenue, down small concrete steps stood an unremarkable, plain, and faded wooden entrance.

Jane stepped inside; rows of bookshelves were strewn about, and no wall was visible. Armchairs, loveseats, and couches sat in corners. It smelled of Clover. Although one could note the distinct amount of dust, it took nothing away from the pleasant atmosphere. A small wooden sign marked this as the Selcouth bookshop.

~

Juniper had an unmistakably ordinary life; any typical person would not have a second glance at him. This aroma of invisibility never seemed to bother him. However, one could never truly know because, most of the time, Juniper would share absolutely nothing about himself. After a thoughtful conversation, one could not recall what, if anything, he had shared.

On this particular Wednesday morning, Juniper walked through London's cold, grey bustling atmosphere in search of a bookshop; This bookshop was not one of a distinct look. As the letter he had received the previous day stated, it was on the corner of Condor Avenue, down concrete steps, with a wooden door. This letter was one most people would have chosen to ignore in its entirety. It came in an unmarked crimson envelope and had been hand-delivered or certainly- had not been through the post. The letter itself was written on a sheet of notebook paper. The handwriting was substandard and made it difficult to read. Juniper found this letter intriguing because of the line stating, "Do you not remember? You are not deranged-life could be devoured ". The smell of clover leaves overwhelmed Juniper as he entered the Selcouth bookshop; it was desolate, minus one woman. She stood, coffee in hand, looking at a small yellow book. The woman looked up curiously. She was tall, with straight black hair similar to that of a raven, bangs, and dark- fierce eyes.

~

Jane flipped through a small yellow book until a thin, lanky man walked in. His hair was walnut colored, shaggy, and unkept- but still appealing. He gazed at Jane intently with brown eyes. A letter Jane received-one that brought her to this bookstore- never mentioned another person. Jane was the first to speak. 

"Hello"

"Hey"

Juniper and Jane did not know what they were expecting from this bookshop. The letter failed to explain what would happen once they found it. They both started to see how odd this situation was. Why had they come? Who sent the letter? Why?

~

Later on, as they would look back on this unusual encounter, neither could remember how they ended up in the depths of meaningful conversation. Juniper, who so often went unseen, was cast into clarity. His need, one he ignored so often, to escape- to run outside of himself was subdued. He was stripped naked, to the bare bones of himself.

Jane and Juniper left the Selcouth bookshop. They stared into each other's eyes intently as they spoke, cigarettes in hand. They walked through the frigid cold air. Juniper could never quite remember the actual contents of their conversation. What he did remember was how they dwelled upon both the beauty and melancholy of the world and how Jane could dive into the most ruined sectors of Juniper and find his soft delicacies. Juniper explored Jane's mind; he uncovered the glory of imperfection. As the day passed, numerous cups of coffee and cigarettes were consumed.

Dusk drew near as they both sat on a small bridge. They peered into the water. They did not want this day to end. Juniper and Jane were extraordinarily alone in the world. This day became one that resurrected hope into their lives. Nothing in particular happened. They spoke to each other, and they understood. Silence fell. The end was near- they both knew it. The world was blue, and it closed in around them. They looked at each other. This day was a whirlwind of tenderness-one that would restore faith in living. Even if they were alone, they knew somebody understood. So they walked to the end of the bridge. Moonlight shone over their faces. They stared at each other, not entirely sure what to do. And they walked in opposite directions. They walked home. Their empty rooms felt a little bit fuller.

~

Eventually, Juniper would attempt to search for the Selcouth bookshop again. He looked for Condor Avenue- without any luck. It may have never existed. He tried to find Jane in a city of plenty. He was afraid he loved Jane, yet he knew they would never be in the same room again. Juniper would grieve for the rest of his life over the loss of this day. However, grief was love's souvenir, proof he loved, proof she was real. Anytime Juniper smelled a clover leaf, he knew she was real. Any crimson letter he received, he knew. Juniper collected small yellow books as a reminder: the world was not so desolate. He devoured. He consumed every pleasure of the world like a child.

"You are not your thoughts or your mind. And yet my entire world exists in my mind, and if I am not what I think I am. If the world in my mind is not real- Then I am nothing. I do not speak. So I will die a shell. Only half-formed." - Ingrid Gomez

"...we can buy cigarettes and no one can stop us"