Author: Olavia Kite

I can’t believe I actually wrote something in Chinese.

When he rings the doorbell, he leans toward the studio window and presses his nose against the glass.

When he sees me from afar, amidst the endless gray sea of people, he immediately smiles. I guess he’s never thought of the possibility of somebody thinking he’s smiling at nothing in particular. His smile is always peaceful, peaceful like his deep sunset gaze.

He speaks with a voice which reminds me of silent nights, of stars gleaming in the distance, of a cool, soothing swim in a dark pond.

I can remember the way he clenches his fists, the scars on his hand, his fingers and nails, the way he suddenly became beautiful in front of my eyes. I can still feel his scent, the texture of his lips, and I long to relive all the moments in which I’ve turned around to find his calm presence by my side.

If we ever must part, I want to keep all this with me, all these images, all these sensations. I don’t want to lose a single memory, every second is precious. I touch my chest and my heart feels warm… I want it to stay that way.

I used to write a lot of stories. Or at least, I used to think about them. Now my life goes on, rather noneventfully, and there is nothing for me to write about… or is it?

I found myself telling Himura a very long and boring story about himself abandoning his swampy estate in Louisiana with a beautiful black woman named Betsy to attend a famous bakery in Los Mártires. Betsy is supposedly running away from voodoo, but she knows Himura is actually on his way to meet a girl who buys apple pie every morning on her way back home after grocery shopping. Of course, Betsy is part of the voodoo cult she runs away from, and tries to poison the girl through a new cherry pie she convinces her to buy. Thus she can keep Himura forever, since he is not really planning to go back to Louisiana.

Days have elapsed since then, and the story still lingers in my mind. I don’t care if it’s extremely boring and stupid. I like it. It’s my story.

Man, I should be writing right now…