My writing is … unexplainable. I need to stop. Too much is becoming real. But words are just so beautiful to me. Why can’t anyone else see this, too? Life is imitating art?
Today … I really did see a man with whiskey breath cry. I wanted to hug him, but I just stood still. Am I wrong for this? Am I a bad person because I didn’t? Does this make me a robot, because I can’t connect my actions to my emotions at necessary moments?
I vaguely remember the days of when I was a “princess” in his eyes. I feel like a good cry sometimes, but I know that will not help me to figure out when the rug was swept out from under my feet. I’ve said some pretty hurtful things, but which hurts worse? The truth I threw in his face? Or the lies he tried to feed me? Spoonful after spoonful. Once, I had to catch myself from choking on a bowlful of lies, piled high. Maybe I should knock it over . . .
It’s hard to grasp memories when they’re just waiting to be blown off the windowsill, out into the wild. It’s even more of a challenge to decipher why the person who stands before you now is not who you knew as a child. Just goes to show that your “family portrait” has flaws, too. Stop pretending. Lift the veil, already.
Corinn Sees is a year-round Islander who loves to read as much as she loves to write. She hopes to publish a few books in the near future.