Our Story

She truly believes she has a mechanical heart.
Sometimes, when she pulls herself out of bed, she remembers her dreams as recurring dreams.
What she doesn't know is that her memory has been damaged.
Everything looks the same to her, so she remembers everything the same way.
She wonders where her future has gone.

I have a name, but I don't want to give it.
Sometimes, I have strange dreams like she does.
When I touch her, I imagine my hands distantly caressing her bones enveloped by flesh.
I like the taste of skin and blood.
Am I crazy?

She truly believes she comes from another planet.
Sometimes, when she feels a certain way (no one knows what that way might be), she reads The Little Prince and talks to him between the pages.
What she doesn't know is that she was born in the same hospital I was born in.
But since everything looks the same to her, I might be from another planet, too.
She wonders if people lie to her.

I have a story, but I don't want to tell it.
Sometimes, I feel a certain way, too- but probably not the way she's feeling.
When I look at her, I'm curious to see if she'll ever figure out that all the liars she wonders about are actually her.
But I love her the way she is.
Am I crazy?

I'll answer that question for myself.
I am not crazy.
I am a human being.
No one is allowed to be told who they are by others.
That is not how it should be.

She doesn't know that she changes all the time, so of course she sees things differently every day.
I've been encouraging her lies, and as fun as they are, they hurt her.
Teardrops weaken the pages of The Little Prince's story.
I love her the way she is, would it hurt to change?
I love her no matter who she decides to be...right?

I have a story, and as much as I hadn't wanted to tell it, I think I have already begun to.

She calls herself Xana (pronounced 'Aksana').
She is beautiful in my eyes.
She doesn't permit anyone to see her the way I do.
She becomes sensual when music plays.
She tells me that death is always near, but that I should live as if I am immortal.

We live life as if it were a complicated tragedy.
We smile sad smiles.
We pretend we feel both empty and full.
We are imbalanced.
We are dishonest.

We are not very nice.
We lie more to ourselves than anyone else.
We see ourselves as worse beings than we really are.
We are sad.
Why are we sad?

She tells me she isn't sad, but then again, she isn't very honest.
She frowns when she thinks I'm not looking.
She doesn't know that I see her cry all the time.
She tells me she has no passion.
That is the biggest lie she's ever told me.