Saturday, June 29, 2013

WILLFUL BLINDNESS

Especially in the darkest hours, the sun is irresistible. Knowing the very sight of it will bring me pain — aware it will pierce my eyes with exquisite agony — I turn away from the blackness, stare directly into the sun's center and dare it to blind me.

Let the dancing blotches find a permanent place in my vision. Go ahead: do your worst, sunshine. You have already tricked me once into believing that your glow could warm the cynic's heart in my chest. I do not doubt you can convince me to sacrifice my sight for another chance to bask in your heat.

I am gullible in this sense — wide-eyed and willing. Even after the damage already done, I am willing. Perhaps it's a fool's mission, hastened by too much time spent in the pitch-black corridors of my mind. I am tired of crashing into walls, tired of crying out in surprise and pain when I collide with unseen barriers. After months of such stumbling I have become convinced the black rooms are smaller than I thought, more confining that expected, not at all interesting to explore. The only monsters here are tiny, made large solely by fearsome unknowns. I know this place now; I know the shit that goes on in the dark, and I am bored of it and growing old.

I need you, sunshine. You will blind me and make me stumble, of course. Your brilliance will confound me. But I crave it. I need it, and you, and the eventual confusion that will surely send me reeling into the desert. Given the choice between that madness, or life in the permanent confines of smooth, starless darkness ... well, that's not a choice at all.

I am willing and I am able. Your beauty has already deafened me to reason and stilled my tongue. Go ahead: blind me. Make me senseless, please.

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