If I could draw the life I wanted to have at this very moment, believe me, I would.
She stood dazed, languid and bored, a dull face that had already lost its special glow and beauty which had enchanted so many strangers in the past: now she looked tired with dark circles refusing to leave the shadows of her eyes. With a limp hand, she reached for the telephone, dialing the first three digits: 4, 4, 9, then forgetting the rest. She threw the phone down in weak frustration.
Her name was Magda. Standing straight, she was graceful with extraordinary limbs both slim and long, her face was simple yet impressive: her cheekbones were high and eyebrows lightly whisked above her almond-shaped maple eyes. Her slim, supple body was a treasure to most men and a dormant object in her own mind. At 21, she already felt defeated. The men in her life fought her and challenged her, controlled her thoughts and possessed her emotions. Any sensible woman would run away from damages dealt -one can assume- but Magda remained in her hole.
The trouble was the men she loved. True, she loved many men and most of them all at once, she couldn't resist their affection and attention they so often cast upon her, but it was nothing like forever from any of them. But only one love clung onto her throughout the years. Looking back, she was unable to block him out of her mind, no matter how many restless nights she spent with a glass in her hand, laughing above the crowd with her painted lip. Her trembling hand shook in front of her eyes, unable to control her own body she let it go, allowing it to control her. And slowly, her hand moved with the brush strokes of an ink pen, her paintbrush and canvas: the illustration of her life.
I loved you, truly. The first evening we met, my body awaited your touch, and still, you refused me. Our intimacy was different than the others, the dirty lovers, ours was mental and extraordinary. I felt myself soar above the sun and drift into another universe of stars, unknown to any other human on earth. You were my special realm. I loved you like no other, there is no other man on this earth who can possess me like you did. I offered you my attention, my eager gaze, my bony fingers; you accepted me completely.
How am I to forget you, after what you've done to me, the good and the bad? Don't believe this letter is all good for you, so full of your retired love and my never ending affection. You dazzled me. I miss those eyes, so blue I always wanted to swim within you. You disrupted me. I wish I could take it back.
Abandoned. You abandoned me. I waited for you, but the sun rose and fell a thousand times and you were gone from me, still. Even now I wish I had you, to hold and adore. I worshiped you, my god. But look at me, this young little fool with tired eyes and a limp hand, you stole something from me and it's been impossible to replace it. My faith is gone. My love is missing. It's funny, I did believe you loved me, that you wanted to take me with you anywhere -everywhere. But was I wrong? I don't know. A part of me still wishes you're out there, looking for me behind every door, hoping to run into my face again. If I did see your face amongst a crowd or in a shadowed room, I don't believe I'd be happy: I think I would erupt, my knees would break beneath me and my entire body would curl up and explode again and again. Is that happiness? Sadness? Longing? Maybe I'll tell you when I see you.
Imagine if I could write my life, draw it onto paper and see it change before my eyes. Would I want you? Tell me. If I had you, everything would be different -I would be different. There was a single moment with you when something had ignited within my soul, you had changed me completely. Can I thank you for that? Thank you. If our lives remained together, I would have remained yours whether you loved me or not, whether I hated you or desired you. I would have respected you to eternity, no matter what darkness you fell into or what sea you dropped beneath.
But I cannot illustrate my life. I cannot have you. It has taken me a long time to realize I can exist without you, but only without pieces of you. There is still a significant chunk of you that remains within me, it drains my spirits and weakens my love each day, but I'm glad to possess it. You left me with something unforgettable. I thank you for that.
Pray you'll forget me. Forgive me. I wish I could forget you, but in my dreams you will always be the life I could have had and the person I could have been. And even if I shan't love you forever, I love you now.
Characters have been entering my mind more so than stories. I'm enticed and enthralled by these characters, yet I have nowhere to place them. My Magda is a poor little girl from the Romanian hills, lost and entranced by the Viennese lovers. But what about Viola and her money problems? What about the tall blonde with the dirty face? They all happen to be women, beautiful and full of grace, but their lives are all but ease and elegance. Perhaps there is something reflected in them that I cannot see? For within each character is a little bit of the writer -is it not true? You tell me. Aside from this, I need to create their lives in greater dimension whilst also creating my own. For a little while, I won't exist, but these characters will live the life for me. Here you've met Magda, I'm writing her story as we speak -as you read.