Moon of Love and Flames

Prologue

 "I can't decide whether or not the world interprets art or if art interprets the world."

If I had the choice to go back eight years and continue my career in my art degree, live a healthy life with no troubles and never meet her, or to go down the path I, Elissa Rossi took a chance on and suffer the consequences that came this way. I'd gladly choose the second option without a doubt, because never meeting her would be one of my deepest regrets.

My life before meeting her  was quite an accustomed routine, wake up, go to lectures, learn about the meaning of art, go back to my dorm, sleep, and repeat continuously. My mental state had been rocky my whole life, when I was younger it started off with me being anti-social, being labelled the 'quiet kid' in each of my classes, but I didn't really mind, I was already quite used to it.  By the time I joined secondary school all my report cards each year had all stated the same things, "Elissa is a pleasure to teach, she adores art especially the the history behind art. Though, she does lack social skills and tends to like to work individually than in groups or pairs, but overall she is a wonderful intelligent student and if she continues she will get very far in life!"

As time went on nothing really changed in my studies, I still continues to be fascinated in the history behind art and when I reached year 10 I knew I wanted to go to college and get a degree in Art History. Through all this my mental state started to decline quite rapidly, it started with little things like not wanting to get out of bed, spending more time in my room, but as time went on it got more extreme. I'd eat less and less every day, I would barely go outside or talk to my parents anymore. Even through all this my interest in art and it's interesting backstory continued. I've always seen the world as a huge canvas and every single one us being painted on it with a purpose, a deeper meaning, but at that time I didn't know my meaning, I felt like the world painted me on here like a mistake, as if a blob of paint accidently flung on and the world had to cover it up somehow.                                                                                                                                             I can't say my family were very happy with my mental state's decline, they kept telling me phrases such as "she's only doing it for attention", "she's just in her teenager years", and "if you continue this behaviour your grades will decline!!". It's sad to admit it but I'd heard it so much that after a few times I got used to them saying all that stuff.

But there was always a certain part of me I was always confused about, and that was about who I liked. When I was young, everyone around me had convinced me that being 'normal' in their standards was a woman and a man or a man and a woman, never anything in between those. That shit messed with my mind constantly.

 But ever since I decided to take a leap of faith that one late-summer night to discontinue my studies at my college, I started vigorously packing my suitcases, went online to book the next flight to Los Angeles, by doing so I spent quite a bit of my savings, but I knew anywhere away from here would be heavenly. 

Little did I know at that moment but that choice I took would be the one choice that determined my faith from then up to the present day. As soon as I arrived at the airport I checked in my bags, went through security, and looked at a few of the shops they had there until finally I got to the boarding gates, thirty minutes before my plane was about to start boarding.                                These thirty minutes were the most intense minutes of my life, I knew I had no friends nor family over in L.A., the so called 'City of Angels', but there was something about that place that made that place seem so intriguing.

As my mind was pondering whether I should board the plane my eyes were picturing everything in front of me as an art piece, a painting with a deeper meaning, one where every single small fragment had its own stories too tell, who knows how many important stories could be told in just one single eye glance. There are moment like this that make you appreciate  the world for how it is.                                                                                                                                                                            After what had felt like a second it had been thirty four minutes and my plane had just arrived a few minutes ago, as I saw the boarding gate open I knew I had to make my decision, and so I did, I hurried up to wait in line for them to check my ticket and passport. 

And for this moment I will always be grateful for.

Art must be an expression of love or it is nothing.

— Marc Chagall