PsychoKitten
Bluelight Crew
I watch her, big blue-green tear filled eyes that shine truth back at me; mascara ravaged pale cheeks and lips that tremble with the effort of trying to hold in emotion.
I feel a cool detachment from this pained woman, a slight indifference as I look her over. From the arms wrapped around a pillow to legs curled in a semi-foetal position, bare feet leading to toes that curl as each sob wracks her body. Yet just looking at her unravels the cocoon of calm I have tried to wrap myself in.
I want to tell her to pull it together, want her to find some strength and rise from her position on her bed, tell her to wash her face and have a shower, tell her to feed her cat and do her study; I need to remind her that responsibilities need to come before self-indulgence in emotion.
She tries, I can see her try, the sobs stop and the tears dry up, the lip continues to tremble but she sits upright, still holding the pillow. She wipes her eyes and reaches for a glass of wine and I wonder how she keeps from spilling the rich red liquid all over the covers, she sips slowly despite her shaking hand and looks up.
I see into her eyes and sense that this isn’t some surface hurt, can see that this is a deep wound that has been torn apart time and time again until it reaches a stage where it will never fully heal. A raw weeping wound that is camouflaged from time to time yet wells anew at the slightest pull.
I look at her and I hurt, my chest tightens and I try to look away, try and fail. I want to run form her, to dodge the hurt in her eyes, the pain evident in the trembling lip, I want to bury myself away from the evidence of that ache but I can’t... no matter how much I want to, no matter how hard I try, I can’t hide from the woman in the mirror.
I feel a cool detachment from this pained woman, a slight indifference as I look her over. From the arms wrapped around a pillow to legs curled in a semi-foetal position, bare feet leading to toes that curl as each sob wracks her body. Yet just looking at her unravels the cocoon of calm I have tried to wrap myself in.
I want to tell her to pull it together, want her to find some strength and rise from her position on her bed, tell her to wash her face and have a shower, tell her to feed her cat and do her study; I need to remind her that responsibilities need to come before self-indulgence in emotion.
She tries, I can see her try, the sobs stop and the tears dry up, the lip continues to tremble but she sits upright, still holding the pillow. She wipes her eyes and reaches for a glass of wine and I wonder how she keeps from spilling the rich red liquid all over the covers, she sips slowly despite her shaking hand and looks up.
I see into her eyes and sense that this isn’t some surface hurt, can see that this is a deep wound that has been torn apart time and time again until it reaches a stage where it will never fully heal. A raw weeping wound that is camouflaged from time to time yet wells anew at the slightest pull.
I look at her and I hurt, my chest tightens and I try to look away, try and fail. I want to run form her, to dodge the hurt in her eyes, the pain evident in the trembling lip, I want to bury myself away from the evidence of that ache but I can’t... no matter how much I want to, no matter how hard I try, I can’t hide from the woman in the mirror.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
