Froget My Face

Kayla Curtis

Forget my face. I belong in London. Forget my name and take this as goodbye. No, I will not put a fight, my will for living has died. I've been living a lie. I am a lie. I'm trite and cheap. I have five dollars and a couple coins with me. If I continue living a lie, then I might as well be paralyzed. Lies are truths never born. So when I board the plane take it as my rebirth. A twelve hour flight in the womb over lonely seas and if by chance this plane was to go down I'd curl up in my polyester seat and turn as white as a premature baby. But if luck goes my way I'll be delivered safely into England as healthy as a new born baby boy.

The airport's bustling and my feet are moving faster than I'm thinking. Through heavy metal doors I step into the streets slick with rain. As I smell the cool air, my lungs transpire London. With each sense intruiged I'm reborn and anxious for what comes next. I'm as healthy as I've ever been, I'm alive as Las Vegas night-life and it's only ten AM. Alone I walk down a road with green scenery. A sky so plain and trees so green. Arriving at the house I took for rent I've realized I'll never miss my bed. Too many nights it's caught my tears and it's caving in from memories of you and me. A new bed will provide new comfort in a new city I'd like to call my home. Out in town I'm not a forienger, I'm like a local and I'm more light hearted than I've ever felt.

It's been six months and I've seen Big Ben and I sat upon the London Eye where I met this beautiful boy. He was gentle as he told me his name and he took a seat next to me. On our 4th time revolving over the sea he'd asked me out for coffee. This boy was clever. As we reached our 3rd cup of coffee we sat and learned about eachother. As time when on each coffee kept us awake and we sat until the early morning talking about English history. The Virgin Queen was recognized and pilgrimage was condoned. We went through all of Shakespeares plays and recited our favorite lines. As we were discussing the tragedies of Macbeth he smiled and I almost forgot how lost I felt. We recited our favorite lines and talked about the plot in quite depth. And as we went on this brilliant boy said "From Spenser to Shakespeare every sonnet is the same. Love was put in our veins to keep us alive, but kills us just the same." We discussed how such a paradox should often be thought through. Which conclusion is best? Which part of the contradiction holds more depth? As we talked about how much love was a waste and all of our heartbreak I realized that I was falling for him faster than anyone I've ever met. I celebrated my rennisance with him. He had intricate eyes and a pale face. His smile made me hope for something better than what I was given. I knew it was around then I got what I wanted all along.

Hyperboles in early English poems aren't hard to find, and I realized I had said one when I thought to myself "This boy is the best I've met in my lifetime, his eyes more mysterious than a New Mexico night sky." Pastoral poems are what come to mind when I imagine us together in a room full of white. Laying in the middle of an English meadow full of dasies with a blue 9 pm summer sky.

So as I continued to celebrate my rennisance I shed all of the past people I have been and feel brand new and reinvented. I feel like my skin was