("show me the things I've been missing")

I try not to think about what I'm missing. After all, you never know what
you've had until it's gone.  I feel the hole where the sunlight, the joy, the
love should be.  But I can't find anything to fill the void.  It aches, you
know.  Emptiness always does.

("show me the way to get back to the garden")

As the summer months wear on, I set the clock later and later. I can hear the
click of the alarm before it goes off, my hearing is that precise now.  I
remember once I woke before the sun set, and the piercing rays abused my eyes
in such ways that I can't think of words to describe the agony.

("show me the ways I forgot to be speaking")

No one comes around to disturb me anymore.  I take this as a mixed blessing.
I wouldn't know how to react to a real person anymore- that requires
compassion and tact and social skills.  I abandoned these things with the
sunlight.  I have no use for them here, alone, in the dark.

("thought I'd been through this")

Every new dusk is a bitter reminder of that last day.  I live on the
bitterness now, it motivates me to go on rather than just embracing the final
night.  Of course it kills me to relive the pain time and time again, but a
part of me knows it makes me stronger.  Stronger against what anymore, I
cannot say. 

("girls what have we done to ourselves")

Sometimes I think about taking back what was mine.  I think of marching up to
them, armed with only my words and my wounded pride and my broken body, and
giving them a taste of exactly how it feels.  And then I realize they shine,
those golden children, they thrive in the light and are favored by it.  I
retreat to my comforting shadows, ashamed for feeling so bold.

("we'll see how brave you are")

I suppose one night my time will come, and I will force myself to remain
conscious to see the dawn.  Until then, I am comforted by the hum of the
machine and the music I pump to my brain through my headphones.  I envy those
with the courage to take back the night.  I wish only to take back the day. 


**This piece dedicated to Survivors everywhere.  You know who you are.  And
you are not alone. 
http://www.rainn.org/

***Quotations taken from "Yes, Anastasia" by Tori Amos (1994).


=====

Stephica
stephica@bellsouth.net


The Sunburst Project, Week 4
http://www.chaoseed.com/btr/sbp/
4/6/00