by White Rain
Reality is torn apart.
| Everyone, everything, is shallow, carved out halfheartedly by quick words and a snap of the tongue. Unlike when it used to be cut deep, real feelings... but now it's ruined.|
There are only a few people who actually are still caught in between these two worlds. I am one of them. It's hard to see black and white, to see things as they really are. Now, the side that is a fake, takes a hold of me and forces color to fleet across my vision, so really, the other world, the forgotten one, lives on in mind. Modernly, these people are known as wallflowers. I see no problem in this at all, in fact, I am glad that people have heard of us. It's almost a relief, but then again, I feel vulnerable.
It's funny watching people call themselves "wallflowers" but really, they of course are not. One only wants the curse yet burden, depth of meaning, and beauty behind this label. It is a curse, it is a gift, it is my crying, and it is my earthly salvation.
It's like a breath on a chilly December morning, a touch of a velvet rose, the prick of its thorn. It's like the warm summer breeze, it's like a siren, a cry, and an old black and white movie.
Sometimes I see myself letting go of my naturality, and I am so frightened to let it go. Even if it was darkness, I would still hold it in my hands and lock it away, because it is ceasing to be a part of this fragile human existence.
A wallflower is a metaphor, it's a message, and a hope. So to all that possess this rare and unusual gift, and you know who you are... Savor it. Do not let it go.