How does the moon look like on your side of town,
Does it hum the same sad tune?
I replay every moment in my head and ask the stars,
How could it all end so soon?
But the stars had no answer, so wicked with their silence,
So I’ve turned to the books, relying on their wisdom,
To illustrate the path back to you,
And make me worthy with their guidance.
I whispered your name to the pages of destiny,
With tears in my eyes, I begged them to save us,
And like the stars, there was no answer,
As if the universe had abandoned me, verily.
So I turned to nature and the winds of time,
For surely they control the shifting of fate,
But when I screamed your name with my head tilted to the sky,
The earth stood so still I mistook it for doomsday.
Once again I had been abandoned,
My fate an unchangeable ember in the darkness of the universe,
I don’t have it in me to give up,
Because I know our love is not over, nor is our story.
So I placed the deck of destiny in my hands,
A quick shuffle to prepare my anxious heart,
I shifted and flipped them, waiting for one to drop,
So my answer may reveal itself to me.
At last they fell in unison, all three to deliver the blow,
I flipped each one carefully,
Starting with the one on top,
The Fool taunted me with his jests,
Damn you! Such cruelty cannot be coincidence.
The second was no better,
Three of Swords to illustrate the stabbing of my heart,
So far change and loss were laid out in front of me, and I held the last card to my lips,
Tears streamed down my cheek and I prayed for you to be revealed to me. But as I
lifted the card to see, my tears had soaked through the ink,
Delicate lines of text now turned to smudges, my destiny now a fateful grudge. The flames
of despair lit me ablaze, for the gods are truly cruel to taunt me with such games. Crouched
on the ground I struggled to breathe, for you had slipped from my grasp, And I began to
seethe.
But amidst the tragedy, I heard a faint whisper,
The winds of fate have shifted, revealing an answer,
I remained still to hear their words,
And the universe had made their decisions,
A subtle breeze blew past my ear,
With the words, “It Is Written”.
It’s been nearly a month since we ended things.
The scene keeps replaying in my mind, and I’m forced to sit through the credits every time. I still see the pain, the agony
. Who knew a person’s face could contort with such raw emotion, and shatter my entire belief system in the process.
You always think heartbreak was a made-up feeling, that there is no way to feel the organ crack inside your chest. It’s not until you’re walking the streets at night trying to outrun the symphony of your battered heartbeat that you start to believe it. Until your world is flipped upside down and you are left alone with shards of your own broken heart piercing through you to remind you everyday of that loneliness.
As I walk up and down the busy street, my mind is racing. The shadows of strangers overlap mine, and as they clear away, mine is left standing alone, an ode to my existence. So I walk faster, stomping on the shadows and banishing them with the light of my grief. My steps grew fiercer and fiercer. I’ve lost all concept of space and time, not knowing how long I’d been shadow hunting, when a voice draws me out of my head.
“Welcome! I am Zura, the All Knowing!”
Those words grab my attention. I look up, slightly blinded by the city lights, but eventually, I spot the little psychic shop on the corner. There’s a woman sitting outside, at a table full of stereotypical psychic stuff: a crystal ball, tarot cards, and some other little gadgets. Usually, I’d walk right past a stand like this, not buying into all the touristy stuff, but I find myself drawn to her. I cross the busy street and make my way to the psychic.
She’s wearing many layers with interesting patterns, each more obnoxious than the other. Her curly salt and pepper hair is down, the ends falling so far beyond the table they become out of sight from where I’m standing. I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Before I can stop myself, my legs are moving, hands swinging to get me to her faster. Answers, I think. She can give me answers.
As I’m walking up to her, approximately five or six people give her the cold shoulder, but her smile is unwavering in the face of rejection. She seems almost unfazed by the lack of communication, as if she has surrendered to the solitude of her profession. The solitude of her existence.
I wonder what that’s like.
The psychic, Zura I’m assuming, sees me approaching and extends her arms to me. “Hello, child. Come closer and have your future laid out in front of you.” My mind tells me to turn around, to go home and avoid any more complications, but my heart demands me to stay and answer the burning questions plaguing my life.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been one to ignore my heart, so I reply with a simple “Sure.” I sit in the chair opposite her, and wait for her to start her readings. Instead, she just looks at me, expecting something.
“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me I’ll become a millionaire or something?”
“Normally yes, but I don’t think you came here for that.” her observation is spot on, which angers me even more. Have I become that transparent?
“I didn’t come here for any reason,” I say, “I just want to have a reading.”
“I’m not called Zura, the all-knowing, for nothing. But if you want to stick to that story, that’s your business.” Her tone is cautious, as if she’s expecting an outburst or a defensive comeback. I have nothing of the sort to offer. It’s true, I didn’t come here for a crystal ball prediction, or to have my future spelled out through cards. I came to see if there was another way. Another path for me, for us, that doesn’t end in heartbreak and resentment.
“Say I was here for something else, could you give it to me?”
“Depends. Are you here to find answers, or do you want me to go along with whatever you believe to be true?”
“Are those not the same thing?” I replied. She gives me a small smile, her eyes already analyzing me without her having to say anything else. From the shift of a small smile on her lips to a groove between her brows, it seems her observation is complete. Results: pathetic.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” she says, her hands busy pulling out her cards. “And what am I thinking?”
“That I’m pathetic.” The words sound bitter as they leap off of my tongue, their poison spawning a lump in my throat I try desperately to swallow down. I look up at the sky to try to keep the tears at bay, fixing my eyes on anything in sight to distract me from the burning sensation.
I find myself staring at a big neon sign in the distance, its bright lights burning my eyes even more. My eyes can no longer tolerate the sting, so they snap back to Zura, who is watching me tentatively. She doesn’t move, nor does the look on her face indicate that she disagrees with my self-evaluation. In fact, her expression is unreadable, like the fog on an October morning. Finally, her face breaks, and reveals another sad smile. Those are starting to get annoying.
“No, I don’t think you’re pathetic, child. I think you’re desperate.” Zura shuffles the deck once, then continues. “Desperate for relief, for love, for answers. Either. All of them. Maybe even none at all. That doesn’t change the desperation in your eyes like you're hanging onto me for your last breath of air. As if I hold the key to end your pain,” she pauses to shuffle the deck a few more times, her eyes never leaving mine.
“What you seek is something I can’t give you. I don’t hold the power of change, child. I simply see what is already there. What is already written. I have no power to alter whatever pain you’re feeling, and I’m sorry if that’s the reason you came to me.”
The lump in my throat grows stronger, taking on a life of its own, manifesting into a steady ache in my heart. I feel naked. She’s taken every protective measure laid over me and washed me bare. Possibly even turned me inside out in the process. Her words were like a blade slicing me open from the ground up, and I’m left sitting here watching the pain pour out in a steady stream of crimson.
If I had known I would feel like this I would have kept walking, ignoring the crazy psychic on the side of the crowded street. I’ll add that to the list of things I wish I could redo.
“If you can’t fix me, who can? What can? I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I don’t want to walk through life feeling like I’m missing a part of me, a part that is vital for my survival. My brain is alive but my heart is dead. It’s dead and beaten and cold,” I say, my voice growing louder and angrier. “How can I fix this? Please, Zura. Please tell me how I’m possibly supposed to find answers and navigate this if the one person who is literally supposed to be in connection with some spiritual realm says they can’t help me?”
I take a deep breath, noticing the strange looks of people passing by. Yes, go ahead. Laugh at the one who loved and lost, who bared their soul and set it aflame, taking everything down with it. Zura doesn’t give me any type of look. She simply places three cards out on the table, and motions for me to sit. I didn’t even notice I was standing.
“Your destiny is already set. We cannot change it, but it doesn’t hurt to take a peek and see what the stars have ruled.” she says.
Part of me wants to run. To flee the scene before I lose something else. Possibly my sanity this time. It wouldn’t be of any consequence to the universe I’m assuming. Zura claims we’re gonna witness the ruling, but I’ve already seen it. I’m already living in the aftermath of their sentence, one worse than death. To be forever tormented by the sound of their voice, the way they smell, and the look in their eyes when it all fell apart.
Perhaps the stars should forsake me too, and put me out of my misery.
The reading begins, and I find myself begging for mercy. Begging for the cards to be gentle on me. Begging for a sign that it will all be okay. Is this the end of us? I whisper to the wind, feeling silly waiting for a reply. Suddenly, the neon sign ahead went dark, then began to flicker in and out, until only a few letters remained lit. I piece them together, rearranging them in my mind, until the words are clear. To my dismay, my plea had been answered, with the simple message “IT IS WRITTEN.”
