.yann tiersen, amelie.

The first notes set in bravely, drawn out of nimble fingers dancing on the piano. Minor chords form, hanging in the air and cascading to the 4/4 beat.

“The body is more trouble than it is worth.” I once told yj. The statement was muttered in reference to life-threatening ailments and near-deaths.

The sounds huddle close, flowing to create a melancholy melody that grows intense. Slowly, it skillfully and cruelly draws out emotions I thought were carefully hidden.

“Did you sleep with him? Tell me!” She screamed into the phone, almost sobbing with hysteria. I was surprisingly much calmer than my mum when dealing with a breakup.

Fingers bang on the piano keys. The tune gets bolder. Louder. Faster. Louder.

“You should eat more,” you complained, while holding my hand. I’m not sure if you made that statement out of concern.

Until the climax tears through the air. Laden with disturbance, and tinged with frustration.

“Do I not know you well enough? You should know better. Don't be tempted.”

Emotions mingle with the musical notes, weighing on the listener and sinking in unhurriedly, mercilessly.

Your disdain I thought I sensed, your disrespect that I’m sure exists, your objectifying gaze, your expectations I could not live up to, your morals that I suspect need revision.

The melody grows quiet. The highs are gone, allowing the lows to slip in.

My body, inflicted with some wounds, is a constant site of contestation. 

Then the last musical note, it dies.

.junk.

I always thought certain histories, or memories, should be treated as if they were junk. Put them aside, throw them out, and then, bury them inside. Bury them long enough for them to decompose and disappear. And then find the strength, please, to walk away.

Occasionally, when my resolve weakens, I return to their burial ground. I would uncover the earth, just to find that much have changed, yet some things, just stay the same.

Slowly, however, I don’t recognize the histories or memories anymore. I figure, maybe it's time to stop heaping earth again and again on top of them. Instead, place them right in front of you, and talk about them. 

Then, sweep the bits and pieces away, so as to make them disappear into thin air.