My glasses make things more blurry, but I wear them because the sting of fresh air to my eyes reminds me that I am a living being. The same way the biting the inside of my mouth when I want to scream makes things seem less incredulous from 9 to 5.
Spring is not upon us, but the rain is. The thunderous shouts from the sky have me surrounded. But I’m not trying to hide, I am ready to embrace the noise, to feel it as a vibration strike through me, because I've come to accept that silence no longer equals serenity. The calming quiet I dreamt of did not deliver. I created a calm that would engulf me but in reality it was flat.
Today, I don’t know if I’m coming or I’m going. I find myself spinning in circles in my living room before I can walk out, half slamming the door then hearing my phone ring in the kitchen. The to-do lists are mounting but every day it’s the same. It’s all cross off then add on, it’s all folding laundry and fake tanning. Where's the real sun to warm me on a Thursday afternoon when I'm living on the cusp of the seasons.
Serenity is found in the bottom of my sock draw where an original copy lives. The only person who has the true original lives 435 miles from this copy. They do not know the original is in their possession, but really, does anyone truly appreciate when they have something authentic anyway?
Part of me believes the original is in the garbage. Buried under take out menus and fast food containers; pushed beneath birthday cards and junk mail lies my masterpiece. And that's all it does, it lies.