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by Esther Yi

“I think what you mean is that he designs his lyrical content and sexual appeal with the specific intent of exploiting the most basic of human emotions, like loneliness, or the desire for unconditional love, and then derives massive profit from his vampirism.”

DUSK WAS BRUISING the sky.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from me. He seemed gripped by melancholic fascination. I knew I had to keep him thinking about me at all costs, for love was the act of thinking about a person in an unusual color; how we perceived the character of that color was always shifting, one moment as disgust, another moment as desire. I had to risk the former to strike the latter.

She’s tired of her freedom. There’s simply too much of it. She’s a small person who lives in a small room, she keeps herself small so that tremendous events can crush her into a paste.

“It would be worse if we were to separate as two unremarkable people, lost to the crowd,” she says as they hold each other on the curb. “But you will become special, even famous, so I will find you again.”

There wasn’t. But anything felt possible in the few minutes between where I was and where I was supposed to be.