Deep, Delicate, Exquisite

By Emily Michelle Fata

In this collection of quotes, poetry, prose, and short stories, readers embark on a half-decade journey through a young woman's musings. The book is divided into four parts, each delving into a different chapter of her coming into her own: the struggle of mental illness, of falling deeply in love, the heartbreak following one's first relationshi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Michelle Fata
• Release date: Dec 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777286118

Emily Michelle Fata

Born and raised in Toronto, Canada, Emily Michelle Fata has been weaving stories - worlds shaped from her imagination and musings - for as long as she can remember. She has been published four times by the Poetry Institute of Canada, in Blank Spaces, and various other literary journals. She was a regular contributor to websites Elite Daily and Thought Catalog. Emily is also the founder and editor-in-chief of Wanderous Affair Magazine and Online Community. Through her various writing platforms, she has had had the opportunity to work with many different companies and tourism boards. She currently creates content for businesses across the globe, sharing her love of writing and creativity. Deep, Delicate, Exquisite is her first published work of creative non-fiction. For more information, visit www.emilymichellefata.com.

Book preview

For Kat,

Thank you for being my first draft editor, for your advice and patience, and for being there from ‘the beginning.’

Most importantly, for always being close to me (even while living on a different continent).

For Vi,

You listened to my rollercoaster of emotions during the months you lived with me and even now, while we’re in different countries. Thank you for everything you wrote in that parting note and for encouraging me to say how I felt, how I feel.

For T,

For being all the firsts, including the first rekindled relationship.

I love you, and I suppose I always have. And always will.

Contents

First Glance.................................9

First Love..................................47

Last Kiss...................................79

Last Goodbye..............................121

Foreword

I went through high school without dating anyone, convincing myself that by living through my friends’ relationship successes, mishaps, and (ultimately) heartbreaks, it would give me a good enough handle on things without ever having to do the ‘dirty work’ myself. That is, I somehow convinced myself that after witnessing and feeling all of these wild emotions of young first love through a heart and mind outside of my own, I had somehow allowed myself to bypass that turmoil and skip straight to the happily-ever-after.

When I experienced my first heartbreak, that reverie I had so carefully crafted came tumbling down. I had set myself up for

betrayal in the worst way possible; I think what had made it seem so unbearable was the mere fact that I never saw it coming. Sure, it wasn’t ever perfect, but it was unlike anything I had expected. It was something that felt wild and untamed, but all the while familiar and comforting, bundled into this thing that... well, that became my whole life.

As with all emotionally-charged instances in my existence, I found myself writing about it as it happened. Those uncertain first months when you just meet someone. The feeling of falling in love for the first time. The soul-shattering first heartbreak. And, though I’d have never acknowledged this during the falling out, there’s also the experience of letting go and moving on for the first time. These stories poured out from my fingertips in poetry, in personal essays, and in short sentences when nothing else served the purpose of conveying the vortex I was feeling inside my chest, my heart, my mind. Reading back through the memories one evening once again brought me through the whirlwind of first love; though I have long since moved on from that pain, there’s still something so raw and sweet that I feel when reminiscing on this year of my life.

I decided to sew these pieces together — pulled from bits of scrap paper held in place with a rubber band or pressed between the pages of tiny notebooks, and on loose-leaf paper typed up on my typewriter in the middle of the night — and present you an elaborate quilt of who I was during this time and in the months that followed.

Take care of her. Although she is only a memory, she is a deep, delicate, and exquisite one.

The Truth

I dreaded my twentieth birthday not because I feared to lose the whimsy of my youth, but because I found the very prospect of living through another sixty-four years absolutely agonizing.

Hello Goodbye

I am Paul in a blue Sgt. Pepper show And I don’t know why You say goodbye

When I say hello

Hello Hello

I want to stay a while here with You to grieve

Preserved in my memories But me You always leave

Leave Leave

I am George in a red tricorn, bass ringing low

I let You know through song

That I don’t know

Know Know

I wish I could tell You how I felt and how I feel But there are no words for this sorrow  We speak different tongues and can’t heal

Heal Heal

I am Ringo sporting pink, thrumming against my drum

The beat is almost haphazard From You I cannot run

Run Run

I would do anything to live and everything to die It is choosing which would be easier Which would give me the greatest high

High High

I am yellow dear John, my favourite of the four

Fighting for peace and love Yet from my life I wanted more

More More

Trains

The idea churns in my mind, a careful mixture of a bleak soul bounding towards the infernos of Hell and the white of my skin being coated in thick, deep scarlet gore. It crosses my mind that the thought should be frightening me, yet I feel a yearning for this release; I feel an ache for my vertebrae caressing the parallel rails, for my skull to be cradled between the tracks, for my lungs to be hugged by the roaring underbelly of the train.

Not yet. The incoming gust of air sweeps my hair about my face frenziedly as the train comes to a stop and the doors sluggishly pull open with a soft mechanical whir.

Depression

I was depressed.

Years of anxiety and desperation mounting to a critical moment where I slipped and fell.

I came back.

I’m here, it’s okay.

But I can barely handle myself.

I have to let go and love myself

before I can love another

I am still too far gone for any of that.

Subjective

You’re...happy,

she noted in a pleasantly surprised tone of voice.

Yes,

I had answered. Because I know that it’ll soon be over.

Unanswered Prayers

I feel miserable and I feel defeated. How dare she stop me. And somewhere between that moment and dawn, I am praying to God with my whole heart to just let me die please. All I can see is the ceiling spinning above me. All I can taste is