Heart of Hearts

My heart is promised to be stoned—frozen for eternity.

I still find myself trying to love. I find myself searching for the maybes in my story.

And today, I find myself staring into the hollow eyes of a possible escape. My best friend. Christopher. “Christopher, I can join you,” I say softly, my breath caressing his thick hooded eyelashes as I stare into his emerald eyes, gulping down my fears.

“Alissa—I’m going over the BoarderLand. You have your duties. You mustn’t join me,” he says, his rough fingers grazing my bare skin as he searches my eyes. I blink slowly, trying to render his words. I swallow my heart in mere seconds.

Right. I’m stuck—stuck with myself and my curse. I keep asking myself how my life went from nothing more than surviving an emotionally abusive household—surviving to continue onward as nobody more than a neglected child in Maryland—to becoming cursed in England beyond repair? Of course, I know my answer. More specifically, the woman behind this curse. Emalia Shereen. My mother was once nothing more than a queer woman with a husband who could not attain her needs. She searched for love, yearned more than I could give her, more than anybody could give her. She searched for love in royalty—more specifically, King Thomas’s Queen, Queen Yerelad. She was a selfish woman. She couldn’t keep her mind off of alcohol and verbal abuse. Her words were as bitter as dandelion greens. I cannot say I miss my mother. I just wish she left the universe without leaving me with nothing more than a curse, a dent to my heart—all for her own heart. Queen Yerelad soon fell in love with my mother. They shared their truths, lies—everything with each other.

They bonded with love and lust. Their love was beyond what royalty seemed to accommodate. I would have been happy for my mother—and I was for a while, she was delighted, and her smile seemed to etch the entire household, merely contagious. I would close my eyes as I dreamt at night and feel love vibrating through the household, catering to all of our worries. It was a dazzling sight, a whimsical life to be a part of. I remember my mother’s vibrant white smile, a riot of hot pink shimmering her lips, and her coiled burgundy hair bouncing vividly as she rushed off to meet the queen in the gardens—traveling to England every weekend (that is, if the queen could not visit her in Baltimore, Maryland)—my father didn’t seem to be disappointed in my mother, if anything he would smirk wildly when he saw them together, he would give her a look that said, I’m happy you’ve fragmented royalty. I would rush over every Sunday to gather teapots for my mother and her lover, and we would spread out in the gardens, drinking tea and indulging in the wealthiest buttered cookies.

I would gather glittery ball gowns from her luggage and assay them, my bodice stripping away my curves and delicately hugging my ribcage. It was a sight my father said could strike a man or a woman straight through their heart—I would laugh, and I would smile, carelessly appreciative of the tiny world I had created with my mother and her lover in the heart of Maryland. My best friend at the time, Lisa, would come over to play with teacups. We were young three years ago. We were merely sixteen, not a care in the world. I would hum a sweet tune every time I saw my mother sway her hips in the garden, shouting over the music as we gathered around the vibrant lights. And I could love my life at the time, I could love everyone around me, and I did—I think I did.

But nobody ever loved me back. At least, I could never feel their love. I only saw what I thought was love (my mother and the queen). I never thought it could be anything beyond love. Not revenge, anger, possibly even—a riot for thrill and a political statement to end monarchy in England. I just didn’t know. I couldn’t know who I was, what I loved, who loved me back—I was blindsided and young, and the idea of loving somebody merely hurt at the time. I tried to love, I did. But I didn’t know how to love when it felt like the universe would never find somebody to love me back—love all the broken parts my mother has shattered, love all the parts of me I’ve tried to stitch, love all the parts of me that are now—cursed. I soon realized their love came with sacrifice—I was the sacrifice, more specifically, my heart is the sacrifice—and all I can do is watch everyone around me love their person. In contrast, my heart is cursed, while my heart cannot, will not ever beat for another beyond physical attachment.

Sometimes I wish I could go back and love just one person, let them know how I felt about them—but I wouldn’t have. I know I wouldn’t. I was afraid of love before I was cursed, and I sure as hell didn’t expect myself to ever be the kind of woman to receive love, no matter how much someone tried to doll me up. Sometimes I wish I could sleep at night without regretting my mother’s love for another. Sometimes I wish I could sleep at night without praying on the stars above the sky that my mother would have told me she loved me, even if it was a lie, even if everything in my life before I was cursed was a lie, I just wish—I just wish I could hear those three words so I could sleep just a little bit better, knowing that someone out there was willing to love me—love all of me.

And, I would be glad that they both went to rest together. Maybe I would smile, a bright, bright smile when I searched the stars. Perhaps I would even visit their grave—if only I could love. If only I could feel love without being cursed to be opposed, detained, restrained from loving anyone beyond their physical appearance—that is all I was left with from my mother, a filthy lesson I had to learn for her—sometimes I search for the moon for my mother. Sometimes I search for the parts of me I know are incapable of loving—for something, anything to tell me she wouldn’t want me to live like this, sometimes I search the sun for my father, wondering if he would want me to be alone. Sometimes, sometimes I find myself climbing trees after classes to ask the world if I ever had love in my heart—sometimes I wonder if anybody has or will ever love me if I cannot love them back?

Sometimes I wish she could’ve left me with nothing. In ways she has. She left me with a curse, a heart that is trained never to beat faster than it should around another. She left me with nothing more than an unsaid promise.

No love.

No happiness.

No freedom.

No one to ever love and no one to love me.

But I mustn’t dwell on the past. My future awaits me. In a kingdom that betrayed their own queen because she loved. In a kingdom that obligates me to be tested like a ragdoll. In a kingdom that has my mother and father’s blood and veins stretched into necklaces, beautiful necklaces of navy blue and mystical violet hanging below the chandeliers in the kingdom. In a kingdom that took everything, my parents had, their child. I am the only child, the only Uwere left to carry our family’s name. And so as long as I stay in England, never passing the BoarderLand, my curse will be attached to my heart for as long as I live. My life will be bonded to a kingdom of hate and rebellions. To a kingdom that bows to a king that killed his wife because she loved—because she loved every one, but she didn’t love the right person. And that is a mistake I will be due to pay for for the rest of my life.

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