Prose: Spirals of Repetition

By: Natasha Aidoo

she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright

she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright she will be alright

Nijiko keeps repeating these words. trying to make them soak into her soul. to form roots as deep as the oceans. it’s the only way she came up with to deal with the situation. constantly reminding herself about that fact. the concreteness of it. the truth she wants to grab onto like a lifeline. with all of her might.

in the dark she fell apart. she hugged him so tightly, she could feel and hear pain and fear leaking from her bones. tears came rushing out. in an attempt to make the weight lighter, to make her lighter. he was there, someone was there. in that loneliness wrapped in sadness that had engulfed her so ever tightly. he kissed the rivers from her face. he sprinkled tenderness in the dark, bringing back some light. she felt it from a distance, like winter sunlight. the heat underneath layers and layers and layers.

how many tears can the wind take? Nijiko wonders while the train takes her to her new home. the trip transports her in a cloud of colours, flashes and melodies. while the exhaustion of those days resurfaces. heavy heart, fragile lashes, sparkles of determination to store. the countryside welcomed her like a long lost daughter. her sounds, her sights, her peace. carving out spaces for the stars to greet her, the birds to serenade her, the wind to infiltrate her dreams, the sun to wet her, the channel to soothe her. soaring in the midst of late night phone calls and the sweetness of spring.

she feels existentially nauseous. she wants to spit it all out, with rage desperation and sadness. empty her limbs, her organs, her essence. she would like to take that poison and throw it in a black hole. to make it disappear in an instant. to cast it in a volcano, to watch it burn disintegrate into nothingness. and still, she can’t. she can’t. she can’t. she can’t. she can’t. she must accept it for how difficult it is.

-hold on to yourself, don’t fade away in this chaotic storm- Nijiko tells herself. confusion mixed with fear collapses in her reality. she must climb with resolution. she wishes she could talk for hours, pour it all out and at the same time she craves whispering what she feels to the void so the words don’t stick to her skin. they simply float around with no gravity, untethered, and for the wind to take away. 

-what’s wrong?- she asks herself. falling apart can’t be an option. she’s been working so hard, but she feels so tired. shoulders of lead. lungs of cement. heart underground. trying to hold on to the reassuring melodies that flow from within. symphonic algae filled with energy and courage. Beach House sings of a dark spring, where the wish is to lie in what is called Orion. as Nijiko loses herself in the starlit sky above, these lyrics soothe her and materialize as her personal desire.

disappearing swiftly and briefly appears like something that could give her relief and the chance to breathe. somewhere to sink into nature, to get drunk of constellations, to inhale silence and exhale anxiety. 

a place to retreat in another dimension.

a space where she can recharge and come back less frail.