I’m Mandy Vee. I’m not a hero, I’m not a villain.
I’m a social butterfly that hates people.
I’m a musician.
I’m a recovering addict.
Pick up your mask, my vigilante, and I’ll let you burn this town with me.
I have an always-changing, artistic mind.
I’m a fighter. I’m nostalgic. I have too much inner angst.
I laugh in the faces of judgment and appreciate beauty in negative spaces.
I will not falter in the wake of my independence.
I will strive for a rebirth, becoming the epitome of a phoenix from the ash.
When the dark draws near, I will not hesitate toward the better light.
When the four walls close in on me, I will not fear the need for help.
I am a soldier, and I will fight.
I am an artist, and I will sing.
I am Mandy, and I will live.
This is my personal mission.
“And she doesn’t understand,” he said. “She used to be able to understand. We’d sit for hours ——”
He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed flowers.
“I wouldn’t ask too much of her,” I ventured. “You can’t repeat the past.”
“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!”
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.
“I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he said, nodding determinedly. “She’ll see.”
He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was… .
- F. Scott Fitzgerld, The Great Gatsby