Sometimes I think I have become diamonds; pretty and sparkly and cold and hard. I am full of clarity and sharpness and strength. It feels like that sometimes especially when I think of how vulnerable I’ve been in the past. It’s easier to be diamonds, if I’m being honest. Sometimes it’s easier to be sharp and strong and cold and hard.
But I’m not always diamonds, am I? I’m silly and soft in the middle. I wish on stars and slay demons in my head. I think cartoons are funny. I drive dangerously. I have confidence in people. I trust too easily. I give benefits despite my doubts. I want to believe in the possibility of love. I’m transparent and wanting. I am funny and sardonic. I am a girl still… and almost always a woman.
It’s funny how I miss feeling all the time. I get worried when something doesn’t make me hurt; like I’ve lost part of myself. And then when I do feel, it’s jarring and violent and I don’t have the stamina for the race. And sometimes it’s a little too painful. It’s Drama with a capital D with conflict and tears and strife and celebrities and special effects and a musical score. But it can also be small and special in its weirdness and intimacy; violins and candles and whispers. It’s dark and forbidden. It’s secret and it’s warmth and it’s sacred. And maybe it is all that. And maybe it is an illusion dripping in the darkness with stale popcorn and hard candy and flat, syrupy soda. Gross and wonderful. Maybe it is both right and wrong. Maybe you are both right and wrong.
I wonder if the answers that you know are right, that you ignore anyway, are really right? In the haze, how can you see anything clearly? It’s dark in there… in that space you saved for this abomination of a production. You’re panicking. You are flailing. You might end up feeling something, something sharp and cold and hard right where you are soft in the middle. You might end up feeling something, something enormous and terrifying. The EXIT is burning in the darkness at you, it is screaming release and relief. And then… then… all it takes, quite simply, is a hand in yours. The hushed promises of your partner in crime, calling you back to the game. And then it gets so quiet and stifling and suffocating in your brain. And you know you’re in danger. And despite the heat and lack of air and black hole gravity of it all, you stay… You aren’t as cold and clear as you thought. You aren’t always so strong. You are soft in the middle, sardonic and sparkly, and wanting. Because you aren’t diamonds, how could you be? You never were.
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