Leaded Glass Window.

girl-in-window
Is it my heart or my head that weighs heavy? I am trapped in an introspective maze for the introverted. A place familiar; however there is no clear way out. To have visited this chamber frequently, it would seem most logical I would know of its exits, but I am stricken by the beauty of the outside as I lean myself against the leaded glass window. I can’t move. Some days I peer behind the delicate fabric of the once white laced curtains, stained yellow in time, to watch. I watch from this window. I make my bed underneath it. I read by this window and I breathe into it. I have lost myself here, or perhaps I have found myself, a silhouette of grace, broken and vanished. A departing of the impossible, yet it is the only thing real to me, for it is all I know. It is a window I have named responsibility. It is my reflection that reflects back to me and reminds me every viciously vile day I live a life of mere cautiousness. There are times in which I want to throw my book at this window, or a chair, perhaps even myself, to break out of this richly blanketed hollow I have rested in most of my life, and to step out of the realism of the privileged and to taste the enticements of the common. My hands gripped. There is a cross in the road. I cannot be something I am not. I was not designed to be a common. Burning heat against my face, my eyes scorched by the presence of the formality of the foreignness, I reach out, but turn away. I can only continue to stand behind the leaded glass window, gazing from its timeless frame, acknowledging what cannot be mine.

Image Credit: Girl in Window by Clayton O’Brien

Shallow Grave.

Near-Kennebunkport-artist-Abbott-Fuller-Graves
Emotions buried, because I buried them long ago. I thought of the what-ifs of tomorrow and the possible sudden rushes of the memories which could appear like suburban waves crashing against the heartless rocks of a seasonal seaside shore. However, nearing two decades later, my aged skin and defenceless eyes have endured the hastiness of life’s punches, struggles, failed endeavours, only to have me sit again at the weathered cross, bare handed and empty hearted. I took a risk to love and to lose, to have and to not, and new emotions birthed are only hindered, due to the shallow grave of the burial from before. I distrusted so entrusted my life over to another, a unified synchronization. To delegate and appreciate, and to hesitate with only settle reservations, which plague my every waking in the mysterious strangeness of each day given. I am so I won’t.

Image credit: Near-Kennebunkport-artist-Abbott-Fuller-Graves