Thursday - What, Me Worry?
Dec. 1st, 2005 11:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on the drive into work, the Angel of Death waved to catch my eye and to let me know by his expression that he was worried. Him, of all people. I thought it was funny and sweet, and I tried to give him a reassuring smile as I pulled away from the stop light.
Since his business is death, I suppose he can tell by looking at me that I feel dead inside. He need not worry. I'm not the self destructive type. I can live indefinitely without actually feeling alive. I've done it for years at a time before.
Time for a new prescription? Probably. I felt so victorious weaning myself off of them before. This will feel like admitting defeat.
On the up side, the only time that I ever think my eyes are pretty is when I've been crying. They go from an unimpressive shade of green to glowing emeralds surrounded by rubies. The tears that crest on my lower lashes, waiting for gravity to push them down my cheeks, add to the lustrous jewel-like effect. I can get lost in the sight of my own weeping eyes, they are so amazing.
The face that these jeweled eyes adorn is swollen and horrible, so I try to not look past the ruby and emerald encrusted mirrors to my soul.
There is beauty everywhere, if you know how to look for it. If you want to see beauty in pain, I invite you to look into my crying eyes. But you will have to catch me unawares; I don't cry in in front of people. I cry in the car, in the ladies' room, in elevators or walking from the parking garage. I cry alone at night into my pillow or in the stairwell going to lunch, and I am quite about it even then.
But on the off chance that you can catch me, prepare to be astounded by my eyes. They will be spectacular.
Since his business is death, I suppose he can tell by looking at me that I feel dead inside. He need not worry. I'm not the self destructive type. I can live indefinitely without actually feeling alive. I've done it for years at a time before.
Time for a new prescription? Probably. I felt so victorious weaning myself off of them before. This will feel like admitting defeat.
On the up side, the only time that I ever think my eyes are pretty is when I've been crying. They go from an unimpressive shade of green to glowing emeralds surrounded by rubies. The tears that crest on my lower lashes, waiting for gravity to push them down my cheeks, add to the lustrous jewel-like effect. I can get lost in the sight of my own weeping eyes, they are so amazing.
The face that these jeweled eyes adorn is swollen and horrible, so I try to not look past the ruby and emerald encrusted mirrors to my soul.
There is beauty everywhere, if you know how to look for it. If you want to see beauty in pain, I invite you to look into my crying eyes. But you will have to catch me unawares; I don't cry in in front of people. I cry in the car, in the ladies' room, in elevators or walking from the parking garage. I cry alone at night into my pillow or in the stairwell going to lunch, and I am quite about it even then.
But on the off chance that you can catch me, prepare to be astounded by my eyes. They will be spectacular.
