The light in her eyes faded the moment she realized she is nothing but a speck in the world.
It had always been hard being the odd one out. Never the favorite friend. Never picked first for sports. Never treated fairly. The way she talked, dressed, wore her makeup—was all wrong in their eyes. So she began to see it also.
The bright, emerald green eyes found in baby photos turned a murky grey, draining life out of her body—and teaching her how to pretend. So she learned the ways of joy. The dictionary definition; a feeling of great pleasure or happiness. But what was happiness? What was pleasure outside the world of sex? She learned the reactions to joy by watching those around her, thus taking her notes to the mirror every day and practicing the laugh, the smile, the giggle. She did this with everything. Everything except sadness. Because sadness was her game. The one thing she learned through experience rather than watching. She felt the pain, the ache, the burn. The sting of cut skin, the poison from the bottle, the hallucinations from taking too many—but not quite enough. Sadness was in the form of a 5’0” blonde girl who took all the other emotions and created personalities with them. A different person for each feeling.
But then comes along the boy. Is it a missing Shakespeare play left unrevealed till now? The damned meeting the broken. It’s like the entire code she had made for herself seemed pointless at this point. She didn’t want to close him off. She didn’t want to tell him no. She didn’t want sadness to win the game. But there’s a catch to being the broken. Something broke you, and once broken, cracks are forever visible. And so the sadness was at war between the criminal and the damned. Of course, in any Hallmark movie the knight in shining armor would win. But who knew it was harder than that? She had taken Sadness in as her own, being consumed whole by the only feeling she hadn’t rehearsed 365 days a year. It’s all she knew. Inside, it was warm; inviting. Outside, it was raining. She had become lovers with the darkness that swallowed her. So the damned was left, wondering what was real and what was staged although the twist is, the joy she had taken notes after notes on was nothing like the one she experienced by his hand in hers. It was authentic. Exotic. But most importantly, terrifying.
How would she venture into the unknown without the sadness that had been at her side all her life? He’s worth it. It’d be damned if the story didn’t end up this way, it was the one thing she had ever dreamed of; hope in the form of a lover. Two broken, united with the fitting pieces to mend. She never could perfect the ‘love’ feeling. But now, there’s no need perfecting. There’s just doing.
So Let her fly. Let her soar.
Let her glide until the known. Because it’s not unknown.
So I beg of you, Sadness. Free the girl of your chains.
Free her to be where she belongs.
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
annaxmalina
gummygunk