Jᵃᵐᵃᶤˢ ˢᵒᵘʳᶤ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉ ˢᶤ ᶜᵉ ᶰ'ᵉ́ᵗᵃᶤᵗ ˡ'ᵃᶠᶠᵃᶤʳᵉ ᵈᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒᶰᶰᵉˀ

Aᵛᵉᶻ⁻ᵛᵒᵘˢ ᵈᵉ́ʲᵃ̀ ʳᶤ ˢᵃᶰˢ ʳᵃᶤˢᵒᶰˀ

Vᵒᵗʳᵉ ˡᵃᶰᵍᵘᵉ ᵃ⁻ᵗ⁻ᵉˡˡᵉ ᵈᵉ́ʲᵃ̀ ᵉ́ᵗᵉ́ ˡᵃᶜᵉ́ᵉ ᵃᵛᵉᶜ ᵈᵉˢ ᵐᵒᵗˢ ᵠᵘᵉ ᵒᵘˢ ᶰᵉ ᵖᵒᵘᵛᵉᶻ ᵖᵃˢ ᶜᵒᶰᵗʳᵒ̂ˡᵉʳˀ

Bᵒᶰˢ ᵐᵒᵗˢ˒ çᵃ ᵛᵒᵘˢ ᵈᶤᵗˀ ᴰᵉ ᵇᵉᵃᵘˣ ᵐᵒᵗˢˀ ᴰᵉˢ ᵐᵒᵗˢ ᵈ'ᵘᶰᵉ ᶜʰᵃᶰˢᵒᶰˀ

J'ᵃᶤ ˢᵒᵘʳᶤ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉ çᵃˑ Çᵃ ᶠᵃᶤᵗ ᵗᵉˡˡᵉᵐᵉᶰᵗ ˡᵒᶰᵍᵗᵉᵐᵖˢˑ

J'ᵃᶤ ᶜᵃᵠᵘᵉᵗᵉ́ ᵈᵃᶰˢ ˡᵉ ᵛᵉᶰᵗ˒ ˢᵃᶰˢ ᵛᵉʳᵍᵒᵍᶰᵉ ᵛᵘˡᵍᵃᶤʳᵉˑ

Mᵃ ˡᵃᶰᵍᵘᵉ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵘ̂ᵗᵉ́ ᵈᵉˢ ᵐᵒᵗˢ ᵖˡᵘˢ ᵈᵒᵘˣ ᵠᵘᵉ ˡᵉˢ ᵐᶤᵉᶰˢˑ

D'ᵘᶰᵉ ᶜᵉʳᵗᵃᶤᶰᵉ ᵐᵃᶰᶤᵉ̀ʳᵉ˒ ʲ'ᵃᶤ ᵉ́ᵗᵉ́ˑ Eᵗ ᵐᵃᶤᶰᵗᵉᶰᵃᶰᵗ˒ ʲᵉ ˢᵘᶤˢ ʲᵘˢᵗᵉˑ

Cᵒᵐᵐᵉᶰᵗ ᵖᵒᵘᵛᵉᶻ⁻ᵛᵒᵘˢ ᵈᵉᵐᵃᶰᵈᵉʳˀ

C'ᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒᶤ˒ ᶜ'ᵉˢᵗ ᵃ̀ ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵈᵉ ᵗᵒᶤˑ

━ ᴹᵉʳᶜᶤˑ

━ { ᵀʳᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵉʳ'ˢ ᴳᵘᶤᵈᵉ ᵗᵒ ˢᵉˡᶠ: ᵀʰᵘᶰᵈᵉʳᵐᵃᶰ ᵇʸ ᴬʳˡᶤˢˢᵃ ᴳˡᵒʷ }

✿ - - - - ✿

━ { 2 years, 6 months, 3 days }

Issa inhales.

France. It's been so long. Everything has changed but remains the same. Like it taught Issa, the city replenished its past with a better version of itself. The wind is happier as it sways and dips. Seagrass and freshly baked patisserie, like perfume, swells in the jaunty atmosphere. And the rain- the rain kisses her gentle and kind still, exhales against her skin still. It seems to remember her well and approves of her changes- the changes that make her all the more beautiful.

Issa feels welcomed and she smiles softly. Her modest voice embraces the melody of a song humming by her and she feels its familiar taste on her tongue. It entails the same barefacedness and raw quality like that of the Italian atmosphere.

Her stay at the Vatican city of Rome extended into a frenzy of travel and discovery. Self-discovery, as it were, became instinctive.

Issa's seen blue in its most cerulean element painted wide across the Greek horizons of Athens. She's tasted the Indian spices of culture and dance seasoned on her meek tongue and bare feet. She's written lavishly in her poems how warm a smile can be under the sultry sun of Jamaica- the discipline of the soul in Japan.

Eat, Pray, Love and whatnot.

Issa has changed since then, both physically and individually. Her hair for one has grown stubborn and long past her shoulders. Longspun, curly tresses of locks. Her skin shines on its own now- as in she has surpassed the borderline of self-care at this point. She is spiritually connected to her God. She's content.

Yet still, her heart wails a siren call to this city, this very spot adjacent to this very gallery. Her chest is tight with excitement or perhaps fear, her fingers shuddering perhaps from the cold.

The familiar chatter envelopes her ear and she brushes strands of her locks behind it to hear more clearly. To hear him. She removes her brown leather jacket and hangs it like a canopy over her forearm, slowly streaming through the sounds.

Her golden yellow strap dress radiates her like a fine glass of champagne. She's glowing even brighter than the last time. She glowing and she knows it this time.

ISSA GLOW: A Freudian's Voyage

She reads the title again.

ISSA GLOW: A Freudian's Voyage

Her heels abruptly seem to be the only thing she could hear echoing around her. She feels eyes suddenly wary of her presence, ogling, venerating in awe even but her confusion is short-lived.

Portraits. Painted stills of her. Laughing. Dancing. Eating. Talking. Crying. Sleeping. It's almost like she'd been robbed of her own self.

Her eyes leap from one display to the next, greedy and overwhelmed. She reaches out and touches- well touches herself really.

Behind every frame holds memories of her last moments here. Her eyes held an image of, what she vaguely remembers as her hotel room bed, her sleeping. Bald head tucked deep into the pillow, face calm, almost childlike. Fingers sleeping in the head of a man she knew all too well. He got the curves of her lips just right, even after so long. The muddy brown is thick and perfect for her skin. And her eyes- they held golden rims and softness.

"You came. Tu es venu à moi." A voice goes softly.

Issa is startled and furthermore so when she sees the unexpected. Eyes bluer than any greek ocean could be, blaze brightly up at her. Issa is as shaken at the sight of the tiny baby-doll child standing in front of her as much as the man holding her to him.

"Lana-Rosa chérie, c'est Mme Glow, celle sur les photos, do you see?" He whispers to the child, eyes standing still on Issa. "Say hi"

"Allô," The girl squeaks, shyly outstretching her hands. Issa meets the gesture of the beautiful girl, still dumbfounded.

"Filleule- god-daughter." He states this as if to reassure and surprisingly enough Issa is subdued with relief. She sees him whisper in the child's ear and the girl animates with a bright smile before skipping away leaving behind a trail of adoration.

Issa finally meets his eyes. Her chest afire as she swallows every new detail of him and decides that her memory did not do justice at all. He seems taller adding to that enigma he always had. His hair is cropped short and browner than she remembers. His eyes brighter too, even now under his stirred gaze.

"Hi" he says, "I'm Philias."

"...Hi"

She is breathless and confused for the second time tonight but regards the electric glow of venture and erratic anticipation in his gaze, much like on their memorable night.

"...I'm Issa... Issa Glow"

● ▬▬▬▬ ๑ ۩ { F I N } ۩ ๑ ▬▬▬▬ ●

and that's a wrap.

and guys, the English version of Issa's poem at the beginning is in the 17th year. soo yea...check it out if you want ig

BIG THANK YOUS AND I LOVE YOUS to every lovely soul that took time out of their schedules to read or even glimpse at my gibberish. idk how to express how much your interests and care means to me tbh.

i love you.

until next time, babes.