They were quarreling again, and I tried to mute it out with my loud music, the sad melody wafting into my ears. The screaming, the door slamming, the horrible silence. I hated every second of it, it reminded me of the past, and I feared for the future because no one would understand me, because no one knows what it feels like to be the torn-in-between-kid or the middle man, and even if they did they wouldn’t admit it. They would tell you “hey I’m happy, that’s a part of my past, and I’m glad that it happened because…” and the lies go on and on and on and on. If only they could tell the truth, then probably I would too.
The silence was so thick the knife went through it like a hot knife through butter, the sides curled and melted, the sliding down was so smooth, as if almost nothing was there. For one, there was no love there left after the storms and the freezing, the defrosting, the refreezing, the heat, the blast, the bomb, the destructive tornado that tore across the living room. The glass was shattered, the plate was broken, the silence hung like a heavy curtain over a window, and all could do was look outside and see the untouchable scenery, the beautiful side of life, blocked away by a thin, thin piece of glass.
If I could just break through into my dreams, if only I could shatter those fragile, thin, mocking glass. The thin layer which I thought was more like the bars of a prison cell, I only wished to be in the sun, to feel the sunlight upon my skin and not the refracted sun rays through that glass.
Sometimes I think I break myself so I break the glass. I breakdown, I curl up, I shatter, I crack, the crevices and little lines that spider across my surface. I think maybe I tried too hard, and maybe if I break the glass I end up breaking the dream as well, the little image was nothing but an imprint in the glass, to be looked at, but once you try to reach for it, it doesn’t exist.
It is perhaps the glass that keeps hope alive, because if there is no illusion, what meaning is there in life? I have nothing to live for, not even the mirage or the faint images I could see through the glass. The glass is there to keep me safe, keep me sane.
I see my reflection in the glass, and I realize maybe all I wanted to be was happy.