Audrey
You know what the problem is with everybody? They all just want to hear what they already believe. No one ever wants to hear the truth.
I got permission from university to leave the premises every weekend for two months. Instead of attending the Freshman Party yesterday, I boarded my flight, which was scheduled on Saturday morning.
Non-stop flights from New York to Los Angeles takes anywhere between five hours to nine hours based on the airline you choose. Fortunately, Bong Hun Entertainment, or the B.H.E. Agency have taken care of my traveling expenses. It's only two months, after all, until they hire an older replacement, one with intentions to stay long-term.
As I gaze out the window of the public airplane, I meet my forlorn reflection in the glass: Lime green eyes, long lashes, slanted nose-line, and full pink lips on a heart-shaped face framed by long, straight blonde hair.
Only one word comes to mind whenever I see my face: Miserable.
I'm wearing a D.V.F. wrap dress in my favorite color as usual: Orange.
I love the color orange. It reminds me of many beautiful things: Autumn--death never looked so beautiful--Sunset, Sunrise, fire, and lava, which I find, though dangerous, mesmerizing.
Orange symbolizes fun, warmth, and enthusiasm. The color adds energy, optimism, spontaneity, confidence, competition, risk-taking, and independence.
Warmth and optimism..
It's been a long time since I last felt those things.
When people fall into despair, even getting through their daily lives feels like torture. Losing someone precious to you is synonymous to losing a part of who you are.
I must look pitiful for the passenger beside me to smile sympathetically. I simply frown and nod at her. She seems harmless enough, probably in her late thirties, with mustard-yellow layers and flowery dress with long sleeves; it's something my grandmother might wear, and I'm not being mean: My grandmother owns an eerily similar dress.
I insert my earbuds into my ears, hoping she'd take the hint that I'm not in the mood to make small talk with her, or anyone in general. Scrolling through my phone's playlist, I select a random song, and coincidentally, I've chosen "Lean On My Shoulder" by RM Young.
I close my eyes for a moment, drinking in his rich vocals. I have to admit, he has a remarkable voice. He's like a chameleon with his duality; He can hit the highest notes with impeccable ease, and when the melody turns soulful, he can convert his voice into a deep one, reaching the curls and rhythms in the most mellow way possible.
In this song, he sounds like an angel. The lyrics are sad but the beat is lively. I can feel my heart beating steadily, and I place my hand on my chest, keeping my eyes closed, allowing myself to get lost in the song and his ethereal voice.
There are days I feel everything at once.. And there are days I feel nothing at all.. I can't decide which is worse.. to drown beneath the waves or die from the thirst..
I have four hundred songs in my playlist, but I always play the same five songs on loop. Still listening to "Lean On My Shoulder," I perch my tote bag on my lap and rummage through it, pulling out various reading materials, all about the same person: Tabloids, magazines, newspaper clippings.
Don't get me wrong. I strongly believe that people who read tabloids deserve to be lied to. But who knows how much is true and how much is false? This is my way of running a background check on RM Young aka Ryan Mason Young-Hernandez.
