Page 102 of Eternal

AZRA

“I Was All Over Her” by Salvia Palth

Present

T he beach is coming to view quickly and in a few moments, I’m parked there and start walking toward the shore. It’s not even that late. Eight, maybe eight-thirty. The sky was bleeding orange, dripping red into the waves.

It looked like God was trying to wash something off the canvas today.

I crack the bottle open. Drink some of it and breathe carefully.

I never thought I’d come here like this. Drink. Write to a ghost who never listened when she was alive. But here I am. Again.

“Dear Mom,” I wrote. And then I stare at it for a while.

Dear Mom, I don’t even know if I mean that.

I wanted to scream and instead I lit a cigarette. I take a drag. And another one and continue, “I miss you . I hate you. I miss you . I miss who you never were.”

Azra, it’s all fine, slow down.

“I didn’t want to hate you. I wanted you to love me right.

To say you were proud of the little girl who tried so hard to make you smile.

To mean it when you said sorry. But all I got were memories of you destroying yourself.

Mean words. That look you had on, like the drugs and alcohol turned me into baggage you never signed up for. ” I pause. Stare at the waves.

Please take me with you…

“I think I’m forgetting the good moments.

I try, I swear I try, but they’re so rare.

.. I remember the flowers on Sundays. Your hands when you cooked.

When you were still braiding my hair. I also remember Casablanca nights.

But they feel fake. The rest is just… noise and silence. Screaming and pretending.”

Gosh this is hard.

“I stopped playing outside, stopped running in the garden, stopped looking at the sun, stopped being a kid. I even stopped smiling, just like you. Then the bruises came, the fear, the tears.”

I take another gulp of the wine before shaking my head and trying to stop the tears.

I don’t cry. I can’t cry. I never cry.

“I didn’t know how bad it would feel to lose someone who hurt me until I had to grow up with people who never apologized when they did the same.

Maybe if our last years were better, I’d believe I deserved more.

Cause I’m still stuck in that past. I still try to give you justice, to you, to Alexei, to Eren.

I’m still trying. I’m still feeling guilty . ”

Another drag. Another sip. “I wish you were a good mom. I wish the world had been kinder to you, so you could’ve been kinder to me. I wish you taught me love, not the lack of it. And stayed long enough for me to learn that I don’t have to earn it by breaking myself in half.”

I remember it all. The rage, the frustration. Little me who just wanted to feel loved and believed in monsters to do so.

“Do you know what I remembered today? The hatred I felt toward you. I couldn’t hate you enough to let go.

I couldn’t understand how something could destroy your love for a family you said you wanted so badly.

And when I was in that house. Home . I remembered what I thought when I was still your daughter.

I think I wanted you to die. Not because I hated you, but because it hurt too much, watching you die a little more each day.

God, that’s fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m so–– no . No, I’m not.”

Fuck thats not what I meant. “You broke me, mom. And I still want your arms around me when I break again.”

I stop writing. My hand’s shaking. I hate that. I take another sip. Let the wine burn its way down.

I feel stupid. Brave. Empty .

“I’m so tired,” I say out loud, to the ocean, to her, to everyone, to no one. “I’m so fucking tired.”

I fold the page. Don’t rip it out. Not yet. Let it sit there, ugly, unfinished. Just like us.

The sea doesn’t answer when I ask for help. It never does.

But for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

The warmth. The memories. The faces, the touches, everything always comes back when I’m alone.

My chest hurts. It always hurts. It never stopped. I just pretended it did stop. Pretending I was too cold to feel. That if I made my heart stop beating, I’d stop feeling the pain that follows each pulse.

I was wrong.

No heart follows what your brain needs.

If it did, it would’ve been easier. Easier for everyone to forget.

If it worked like that, I think it would’ve listened to my pleading. To the way I begged.

But it didn’t. It just kept holding on.

Even when I told it to stop. Even when I didn’t want to feel anymore.

All it took was a man to take care of me to reawaken it and prove to me that it was still hurting.

I hated how vulnerable I felt in the arms of someone who sought me harm.

I felt like her . Little Azra who smiled when she first saw her new parents. Little Azra who still cried because her mother felt bad when all she did was teach her that even our own blood can hurt. Little Azra who thought it was okay for people to use her like she was just a toy.

Little Azra who felt unloved and hopeless.

And adult Azra isn’t that different. I felt stupid enough to believe in kindness and softness.

And all I wanted was to feel free from these memories, from this life. This endless cycle of pain and pain and pain.

The breeze touches my skin, but I feel cold. Too cold. My hands are cold too.

The bottle is almost empty. I wasn’t drinking for taste, I was drinking to forget. Or maybe to remember. I didn’t know which one hurt less.