When it rains, it rains a lot in this city. I see no sunlight between the long shifts at the hospital. In a tired haze I question my measure of the light in her eyes, as they appear fainter still tonight. Reduced to a warm glow, what was once a household fire set alight by her childhood trauma. Growing ever stronger into her teens, rebelling against heroes and instead siding with their victims. A light found fainting as she turned towards her own deities --- alone and afraid of the up-and-coming twenties. And so the twenties are hard. And so perhaps her flame is a flame affected by the worst of this bad weather.
In that respect I can not blame her.
When it rains, it rains a lot in her life. She simply never adjusted her eyes to the flashing lights of the storm that projected from her mind's eye and onto her field of vision in any given room she occupied. A storm that kept her outside, her visions blending, her visions made a home of the worst of weather.
In that respect I can not blame her.
Is it any wonder then that she can't detect any light in my tired, blood shot eyes or the tremor of my pulse tonight as I shake steady hands that are finally allowed to express their exhaustion. After a long shift at the hospital I ask her if she can see it, the fire inside of me, but she can't and in that respect I can not blame her. Some days I can't see it either.
After a long shift at the hospital I ask her if she can feel it, the earthquake inside of me, but she can't and in that respect I can not blame her. Some days I can't feel it either.
I can not blame her.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment