Caught without light, wandering the unknown—that is how the very fabric of shadows were stitched. A tall stature, a depressed, eye-bagged sight in the just-afternoon awakening. That would be the name of a ghost.
"I want it."
"You want what, love?"
"A family."
Apa always wanted a family, a place to belong to and finally not be caught without a light. Thoughts like that have crushed her mind, because the pressure of existence created actions that destroyed.
"A family, you say, love?"
"Indeed, cutie."
Apa knew from her own mouth that she couldn't birth a child; it is impossible for a transgender woman to give birth, sadly.
"Do you think that perhaps we could make late-night snacks, kiss, and have our kids be around us, knowing we love them and want them to live with as little problems as possible?"
Apa asked that question knowing deep down it would be hard to do so. Often times, being born a woman would have solved all of her and Mr. Dino's problems. Mr. Dino seems to be okay with Apa as she is.
The nose that I possess smells of certain regret. It wishes for lavender and fair sparkle, but the only wonder that is left behind is the extreme certainty of self-destruction.
Mr. Dino, Mr. Mr. Mr. Mr. Turning a lonely, watery vampire, huh?
"We must adopt if you want children, love."
"Yes, love, yes."
Often times, envy arises. Imagine this: you wake up every single day wishing for something... maybe you do so, or maybe you pray for decades as a wandering fire, not so fighted... but you do, and someone may grab a shovel and dig out all of the roots you have planted, then plant them for themselves and it would already bloom. That envy that you cannot do anything about must feel like indestructible, infested maggots eating against the walls of your hydrochloric-filled acid stomach, never dying, never stopping the suffering.
A pretty girl walking around the street, killer body and a decent attitude. Most people wouldn't care much, and the most that would be is because of lust, but to even look and feel like a normal woman must be great—so great for a vampire like me.
"Want to sit down, love?"
"Yes, cutie, let's have some tea, should we? Or maybe some hot chocolate? The night is kind of cold."
A big supporter and leading figure in your life would be your parents, or at least that's how it's supposed to be for the privileged, but mine, as the vampire I was forced to be, hasn't been the best.
"Do you love the tea, Dino?"
"It does taste quite sweet, cutie."
It isn't as if they would not have treated me okay if I was "quote unquote" normal, but their internalized, disgusting, imbecilic, rotten, low-level intelligence and false belief in their god—to hold onto strands of hope to be able to make up for their own incompetence and need to fit in—prevents that. I'm not a vampiric prince. I am a vampiric, shadowy, aquatic, sad princess.
"I love my tea, Apa. How's the hot choco?"
"Pretty peppery and tasty."
You can support me killing humans but not support me being a different bat. I am not a Dracula.
The couple sipped on tea and hot cocoa, imagining how they themselves, if someday they can, they will forever support and love their children.
In a way that no one may possibly understand, they will... we will.
Even if the Dino's pterodactyl mom and T-Rex dad or the watery Apa's count and countess parents will shout rules against true love, the couple will try their best... I hope... to be better parents if we ever get that opportunity.
"You know, Apa, I know that we aren't able to do lots of things sometimes, but I do think someday it will work out."
"I hope so too."
Fairly crystallized butterflies swarming around, and a sparkle of dusted souls from the very start.
In this world, everyone seems to be caught without a light. I don't want us to be like that. I'd much prefer it if we were caught without the dark. When the sun rises and my night owl persona wakes up earlier before you sometimes to say good morning, I often know that I love you.
The postponing of my sleep is rooted in misanthropy, and the sleeping itself rooted in death. I do not just love you. I feel the need to be extreme about everything because truly that's how I see love. Love shouldn't be casual and dismissive, but possessive, extreme, and always constant.
"I hope that someday my shadowed symphony doesn't ruin your ears, fair Dino," said Apa, knowing it's cryptic.
"What do you mean, mi amor?" he said.
I didn't respond to him. Instead, I wrote him a letter:
I hope to see the day where the flower doesn't wilt any longer.
I would hope that the non-conversing mirrors wouldn't frustrate thy mind.
A shadowed and sure hope,
a mellow grave that isn't laced upon existence any longer.
I would hope for the day the water would be dinosaoric
and very much so sweet as gelato.
Amère noire lune.
Black bitter moon, o lună neagră amară...
I would hope...
She would hope.
Ea ar vrea.
Sincerely...
Aqua, Softie, Mel, and Lade.
—a cryptic letter sent to him from white-clouded splitting.
A letter about how hard it is to live with self-destruction. A letter about how I myself try myself... how I am soft... how I am mellow... how I am always, but I always try to be there, just like water always is.