In my
departure, I became indisputably tied to the search for Marie-Lynn.
In her, I thought I could find an answer to a question not voiced.
However, as I entered the city, Marie-Lynn seemed to be a distant
dream. So much was new to me, and it appeared impossible that
anything known to me could be present there. I fled immediately to a
promised place of safety, but it too was new to me. In no longer than
a day I was defeated by my fear of unknown cities. It had been
childish folly to think that I would have been able to overcome the
sheer size of the new place, yet alone its massive population. It was
chaos, and I was alone in it.
Two
days passed before I allowed myself to sleep. The view from my window
told me nothing of the burning woman. All the hopes I possessed
beforehand had been crushed, leaving only ruin behind. I blamed
myself, as I believed that I might have found Marie-Lynn if I had not
waited for so long. Whether or not that belief was true, I cannot
say, but the feelings that resulted were very real. The temptation to
return to my dream-world grew everyday. I knew it was an escape, but
not a solution. I could have back at any night. It was hard to
resist, but it was Marie-Lynn who had convinced me to remain in
reality. She was absent, and I understood why. I could not go back to
the way things had been, for the power of the real was far stronger
than the unreal.
I
began to wander again. Each day was spent alone, combing the crowds
in search of fire. One object kept me company, and I often abused it
in my frustration. It was “The Wanderer's Wife”, my novel, but
Marie-Lynn's copy. She had left it with me like a written threat, one
that I dared not read. I worried that I would fall back into my
fictions, so the physical thing became a companion as well as a
reminder. But, regardless of all my efforts, Marie-Lynn did not
appear in the city.
Two
months of that dreaded wandering passed before anything changed. I
was tired of searching for her, but I wanted to feel her presence
again. I opened the book, my horrible novel, and began to read. I
stagnated as I was lost to my own creation. I stopped wandering; I
stayed alone in my apartment. The reading was slow initially, but it
grew faster with each instance. When I completed it, I wanted more.
The fictions could never again satisfy my wish to experience
Marie-Lynn. It appeared that I had to continue my wandering, but I
could stay no longer. I fled my folly, and returned to the place
where I had last seen the flame-haired woman. However, the known and
the familiar did not feel welcoming. The cluttered room that I had
left behind no longer appeared to be mine. None had stirred it, but I
had been stirred by the departure. After a few days, I could not
remain, for my home was elsewhere.
The
once alien city welcomed me back, and I gained the absence of the
wish to leave, even with the idea that Marie-Lynn may not have been
in that city either. As for my belongings left behind, I told my
parents to do with it as they pleased, including publication and
destruction. I could not bear to possess the proof of my mental
wandering. I admit it now long after the fact. I instructed those
who remained to inform those who came to see me of my location.
Marie-Lynn was on my mind as I spoke those words, but I dared not be
specific. I had severe doubts as to whether or not she would visit in
search of me, but I left behind a letter to her regardless. It was
the unsent letter with no address, but a person addressed to. With a
divided heart of fear and excitement, I thought about the envelope I
handed to my parents. I resumed my wandering.
It
was strange to have gotten used to both her absence, as well as my
dream-world. There was nothing present, and this was new to me. It
was the lack of eventfulness and stress. Even my wandering lost its
urgency, its aim. It no longer mattered to me what I would discover,
although Marie-Lynn never left my mind. To forget her would have been
to return to my fictional world, and lose the purpose of the
departure. But, once again, she could have been real or otherwise. It
was impossible to tell. I contemplated on this in some spare time
while I walked. It was undecided, although one day I received
something that tipped the scale.
I
felt it before I read it. Then I took a cold shower, which was
followed by several cups of coffee. There could be no doubt in my
mind that I was in reality, but all I tried did nothing but assure me
that I was fully awake in whichever world I was in. The envelope had
arrived like any bill would, with careless haste, and yet, it was as
if lightning had struck my mailbox. Her name was on it, along with an
address. I id not find her. She found me, for I was lost in distance.
I was careful in how I opened the envelope, as if the expression of
the excitement within would destroy it. The paper inside was soft
like her words had been long ago. It took me thirty minutes to decide
to read the letter. I worried about what it might say, whether it
would be written in anger or not. I feared that I had stirred the
flames in such a way that they would destroy me with little
restraint. The papers were dangerous because I placed so much worth
in them. Perhaps I feared a bland response more than a fiery one. It
was always more terrifying to see fire tamed than to see it free.
When
I let my eyes read what had been scrawled by Marie-Lynn's own hand, I
found formalities, and gentle friendly words. But, above all else, it
was an invitation.
-Zero
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