Colors Behind the Glass ✓

the sunset pt. 9

I remember when we planted the willow.

It had been a warm day, one that enveloped the tree in caring detail, giving it a life where such an idea had been absent in previous moments. The soil welcomed it, warranting its presence next to the fading tree beside it.

One less demon, another jealous rage.

Sometimes I would find myself stretched out on the grass, staring up at the branches that waved above me.

While I may be lonely in my own perspective, the infinite treasures around me were not as unfortunate. Each pair, identical to the pair I accompanied with myself, but physicality triumphed in this case.

"I'm still the same person. I'm not any different."

"I understand that. Just not something I necessarily agree with."

UNDERSTAND: verb, to be sympathetically or knowledgeably aware of the character or nature of someone or something

You didn't, perhaps that is the most isolative component to this puzzle. As I have pondered previously, your words did not correlate, the story did not align as it needed to, no matter what direction it would wander. Understand, understand what everything and nothing meant to me, not to you. Opinions are what each of us has, what we cannot banish. I admit that. But, openly opinionating versus quietly understanding are two very different identities.

After all, actions speak louder than words.

You understand in words but disagree in a situational sense. How does that add up? How am I supposed to heal my scars if these unanswered questions create more than the ones that were already gracing my skin?

I'll tell you: I can't.

It's not that I won't be able to ever, it's that I can't wrap my head around such facts.

The willow and fading tree sway as I contemplate this, their branches overlapping and compiling a list that flutters across my eyelashes.

On occasion, I contemplate whether it was blown out of proportion. The paint on the wall screams with invalidation, my conscious echoing their chorus. It's deafening, heart-wrenching.

With these facts, I know I have every right for these torturous visions clashing with reality.

Even with this, the reality is immensely misconstrued, leaving me wallowing in despair.

Believe me, if I could eradicate the pain, it would be gone.

It's not the fact that it was you who persecuted this, it's the fact that it occurred in the first place. When it did, I was left shaken, broken. I was left to grieve both someone who once was and something that had never been.

The immeasurable hatred was intense. Both for myself and for your words. If I was in your presence, I spent my money on whether to hold myself or let my spirit drag behind me.

It was always both.

Having it as both was exhausting in itself, exhausting in the way it broke my energy.

I had no reason to prove myself to you because you will always be a lesser being.

So why was I pursuing approval from you?

I glared at myself in the mirror with each revelation. Whoever was staring back at me was someone created from insignificant cries, from surreal realization. The black tears that had remained dried along my complexion were crusted, falling away with each shaky breath I found myself taking.

The willow was not as judgmental.

I could critique myself as harshly as you had, but what would that do for me?

In the end, I was insufficient for you, and there was nothing I could do to hide this truth. The remnants of the past were desperate to stay rooted in my soul, afraid to wander free.

The black paint was now dust in my hands, filtering through the cracks in my fingers.

Carefully, I lifted my hand into the air and let the particles flow with the wind.

In my own way, I had finally accepted what I refused for so long.