Dos: Epilogue

 


Like her question of studying in Prague was too late to take back, so were her emails to the five professors. She let them be; there was no way to unsend them anyway. Fuck whoever replies.

She turned to her phone and opened the app in which she and Brandon communicated, wrote, and fucked. Finding his name, she, with one final breath, blocked him with nary a note. If she can be absolute in one thing and one thing alone, redeeming herself finally whole in the process, it would be silence. Her last message had been a link to the Epilogue of her first novel, and he replied, “I love your writing.”

She wished she could take away her memory, a la Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. But her mind was only taken away such that she had an understanding of what she precisely lost, but did not lose. 

She set out to take the new day by its throat: she drank coffee, showered, washed the dishes. She was going out after being holed up for three weeks. She was visiting her dead twin’s grave. She left her phone at home.

 

 


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