my name's Nia, 50% Egyptian 50% Tongan.
I work in development... its not as sexy as the UN makes it out to be, its actually quite annoying.
I asked him how he’d spend the last twenty four hours of his life if the world were coming to an end and he said that he’d break into guitar center and make music for anyone who’d listen. I had never heard an answer like that before. I missed undoubtably loving something that much. “I think you should stick to that. I think in order to be successful in music you have to love it that much.” when I looked over at him he had a blank stare, looking out towards the window.
I am not where he wants to be right now.
It reminded me of a cashier the day before who sold me cigarettes and asked me if I shared my soul with anyone. I laughed. “you mean a soulmate?” “no. the one who’s soul is intertwined with yours, not compatible with yours—there’s a difference.” I told him that whatever is left of my soul is reserved for me and that I can’t afford to lose any more of it. he told me to stop smoking cigarettes because our fate was decided 40 days after conception and that whomever shares my soul could probably feel the burning deterioration of mine. they’d have to work harder to fill the empty spaces I burn inside me. I tried not to cry on my way home until I remembered that there are greater loves than this. the kind that would know what to do with my empty spaces. the kind you’d spend the last twenty four hours of the world with.
He’s a melodic soulmate who thinks he can read minds but he doesn’t know I think like bad poetry. He doesn’t know my mind is a poem I read on the wall of a bathroom stall that left me in a trance all day when he traces his fingertips against mine because he remembers I did this once and our bodies lit up in dark field that I still like to pretend is part of my home. He is a poet of contemporary sound and I am a colossal mess of cheap metaphors and slow sighs between moments of silence. He thinks he can read minds but he doesn’t know I think like old battle wounds might. He doesn’t know my mind is an old disc I found tucked away between pages in a book labelled “shit I don’t need anymore”. I like myself best smelling rain before the storm. I like myself best putting a book down just before the climax because the journey’s more than I’ve ever needed these days. More often than not, the best is only the beginning of the end.