The Sun & the Scorpion

Basking in the poignance of this moment of my life. The heart-shattering spring. All the new songs that come crowding onto my playlists. Songs that tell new stories—no longer needing the old ones, the sad ones. New lyrics, new mantras.

I remember a hint I had of this life one night after a party in Guadalajara, maybe only a month after the break-up. Padma’s friend drove me home on his motorcycle, early hours of the morning, empty streets and neon signs. He kept turning his head half-back and shouting at me over the wind. We were talking of traveling—he had been all over the world—and he was easing my mind. I was full of worries of living loose and unmoored. My heavy heart was giving birth to a question mark at that moment: could it be possible that I myself was embarking on this life that he’d lived? That once the fire had burned all my old life down, the ashes would nurture THAT new life? I hardly dared to hope it. And, anyway, I was in the fire then, I was burning. But I felt a fresh wind.