Reflections of a broken butterfly
Today was emotional for me. I watched two episodes of lie to me and they were both involving physical abuse, one rape and the other domestic violence involving a lover. I cried after both episodes and now I am writing. I feel sad, like I want to cry my eyes out and lay in bed watching cartoons, smoke weed and drink Hennessy all day with the shades drawn and the house dark, but those days are long gone. I've grown and evolved. Even if my eyes bleed for ten to thirty minutes max.
Why are my tears clear?
Why don't they show my distress, in some dark imposing color; like burgundy or black, just transparent, clear and innocent like they have no meaning, like the rain drops, clear and innocent, yet they can multiply into a flood drowning out every word I say?
I would have gladly saved my tears for moments of joy only tears could express, those were then scanty but now more bountiful.
I can only respect this moment, watch it past by me and dry my eyes refusal to cooperate with with my stiff upper lip and steeled composure. I've spent too much time looking for closure, those days are over, that girl is gone, never to return or be the same. My pain it seem has polished me to a smooth shiny gem. I may tear for a moment and then, back to work again...
