I woke up to winter’s last stitch effort, a stinging irony of a landscape. It is the very image of a clean slate; a blank canvas. It is everything that embodies my fears and desires together. The mirror is held up and all that returns is a flash: a Mona Lisa smile.
I take out my music. Drown it out. You are not ready. The loneliness will consume you. Ear-buds in, volume up. Drown it out. Don’t face it. Don’t think about it.
It doesn’t work.
Waiting for the bus, a tear waddles itself free from eyes neglected by mascara and masked by aviators. I mumble something incoherent and strain to hold back the flood building and threatening to overflow. A car passes and a man honks and hoots: “Yeah, baby! Woo-hoo!!” I laugh and throw a peace sign. The snow begins melting away, desperately flowing into the gutters. I concentrate on the sound. It is a torrent; it is the tears I do not have to cry, at least not today anyway.
