Fascination / 2 - Avant, Rendez-Vous

[qdesjardin]

2

The thick clouds, and the huge, undulating surface of the ocean. You can see the rays of the sun etch organic contours in the clouds, underlining their orange-tinted wisps and making purplish shadowy hollows. And above the clouds, the sky is streaked with colours, from salmon pink to violet. This fluffy immensity, warm and bright. It is like cotton candy.

Yesterday when she'd sung, the memory of chewing cotton candy appealed to her.

Now, as she flies back home aboard the plane, she dwells on the idea of chewing all those clouds. Each of their hues would determine their flavour; the orange clouds would taste tangy (like mango juice), the blue ones taste like blueberries and the purple ones like grapes. She might flutter out the windows like a bird and catch their ineffable substance with her hands.

In the plane, she is alone. She has all the seats for herself to savour the privacy; the comfortable, torturous aloneness, in which she can relax away from the public's eyes for 4 hours, and truly embrace herself.

She is a luxurious diamond, safely tucked away in a shell – whose very core if you peer closely is fractured, deformed. All the refinements will never fix this natural fault. The original sin passed down at birth. In a way, this makes her beautiful and true. It is a frail beauty though – a beauty so sensitive to observation that you must be tender. Otherwise you would shatter it (without knowing) and all you'd feel is revulsion towards the honest contents of a human being.

When she performs, whether at a jazz party or a cabaret, that is when this diamond slowly peeks out to shine. Those who see her glimmer will have a taste of an almost otherworldly experience, and as she sways, the audience feels their hearts tingling and aching. As if she wishes to infect them with the same feelings, the same longings that have surrounded her all her life. And maybe it will affirm why she is alive.

If I had a chance to tell you about Love.. that Love which pervades the World all over, that Love which forever eludes me so much that it is unbearable.. I'd take it. If it means prying it from God's unwilling clutches.

(it hurts)

But I'm afraid my own Heart has become too impure. God has infused me with this great need, yet why do I always remain unfulfilled? Food and water, they are recognizable human rights. Love isn't. For many, it is too dangerous and too powerful, and too volatile. It can destroy.

(it hurts)

I'm afraid my Heart has irrevocably turned that need into Hate. It's easy to hate. Hate anything because it isn't there, hate anyone because they cannot give or return. Envy perverts the need for love into a willingness to hate. If there is no good in this World for me,

(it hurts)

what better way to express Hate, than to stab the heart where Love is felt?

By the time she'd finish a performance, the audience would always feel it is too short to be fulfilling. It is drinking a glass that's only half-full, and you're left on the brink of thirst. And that would work to her advantage, from the vantage point of business where people are left flocking for more.