Tears in the Truth

Chapter 36 - Fana'a "Destruction Of Self For Love"

I let the light in,

let the sun shine through these

dirty windows

and even though I long for

the cool, deep dark,

sometimes I need

to see myself

the way that others

might.

I have been writing a lot of words in my journal, strings of nonsense and babbling that I pretend mean anything but nothing. I have been drinking a lot of tea, cup after cup of bubbling, boiling brew that I pretend isn't keeping me up at night. I have been watching a lot of internet news, hours and hours of atrocity and violence and greed that I pretend isn't ruining my faith of humanity.

I...I....haven't been exactly writing,

losing minutes and weeks of light

that I pretend

isn't eating me up on the inside.

23:11

Tonight is the night! I thought, arranging my pens and post-its and every journal I might need. Two library books, another I bought last week ('because the library didn't have it'), on the off chance I might need a break.

A cup of tea, because I was giving up coffee. A cup of coffee, just in case the tea wasn't strong enough.

No music, no YouTube, I promised. Just me and the pages.

23:25

I abandoned the tea, watching it spill over the dirty dishes. Poured another cup of coffee to wash out the taste.

24:39

I was focused.

On rewriting that one poem.

For the third time in a week.

02:26

I heard airplanes overhead.

Who flies into the city at this hour? I thought, sipping from my cup of coffee. Not decaf. Never decaf. Not even at this hour.

03:02

I ran my fingers through my hair, drawing the ends in front of my face.

Maybe I should dye it, I thought, I mean, since I'm up.

I clicked on another Buzzfeed hair tutorial video and leaned back in my computer chair, drawing my oily locks up into a bun on top of my head.

03:33

Glancing at the clock,

I yawned.

But there is still so much to do, I said, punching 'brew' on my coffeemaker.

04:54

And I thought to myself, the internet is a strange place at night.

05:47

Finally, the words came, meeting me between wrinkled sheets.

I'll remember tomorrow, I thought, closing my eyes against the rising sun. No need to write that down.

As I slept, I dreamt, that I ventured into the lands I knew and my skin was stained like painted glass,

 fragile,

shimmering ,

 fragmented ,

decipherable,

opaque.

Early afternoon is early morning coffee brewing, bubbling,

promising...

promising stiff eyelids and a sure tongue

so many windows looking out,

 so many windows looking in,

all this light 

on my

hands.