Letter 019 / Devil on my shoulder

Letter 019 / Devil on my shoulder

Dear me,

I feel like I am diving into a dangerous game of delusion.

Is it possible to feel desire for a fantasy not connected to any man in

particular,

but directed towards myself?

Is it possible to be turned on by a reflection — my reflection?

White.

I have always been your favourite.

I can tell by the way you sit on my olive skin,

by the way you sharpen against my dark hair.

So I chose you tonight.

Because I am planning to be loved.

My wet hair was still dripping into the bathroom sink,

while the version of myself I had chosen for this night

was already lying on the bed,

waiting.

Precise cat-eye eyeliner in black.

Shadows carved into my cheekbones.

Dark red lipstick — too deliberate to be innocent.

A quiet fight between elegance and seduction.

My body was glowing.

So were my eyes —

impatient

for the eye contact to begin.

I opened a bottle of white.

I didn't want anything else to be red but my lips.

I set the light low.

Put on my best shoes —

high,

demanding,

loud against the apartment floor.

My white-leg trousers hugged my waist,

while the edge of the bodysuit against my chest

kept reminding me I was wearing it

with every step I took.

Toward the mirror.

Gold on my hands.

On my neck.

Like I was marking something. Or claiming it.

A heavyweight contender.

I against I.

Yes, the mirror from Thursday was waiting.

We had unfinished business.

And whether this was a beginning or just an experiment,

I was ready

to give myself the best version of me available.

Something I have given only to others.

I sat in front of my mirror,

with my wine glass close

and my playlist like a little devil on my shoulder,

still unsure where this was going,

but highly aware that every minute of it

I felt that she was my final destination.

Like I was dissolving into that woman,

into that version of me

I used to imagine

from a distance.

She was there.

In white and red.

Between angel and not even close to one.

She was

mine.

Dear me,

I was falling in love with you.

And somewhere between the silence and the music,

I was turned on.