Author: Sophia Falco

There were no lightbulbs in his house only candles. I tiptoed around each room, and one by one blew them out until darkness engulfed it like a demon, and I exited the back door, but immediately regretted this. He did not deserve to be in the dark whereas he is in the dark regarding my feelings of sorrow that stretch to the sky—the night sky that is. At night my shadow is not seen. At night danger lurks. At night the city lights come on. I never questioned why he was against those lightbulbs. He did not have a lightbulb over his head to give him an epiphany.

In this lifetime I have struggled and continue to do so. What if the demon ate sorrow? Digested it, expelled it, but then it would be contaminated with that evil. If sorrow is a part of me—it is not intrinsically evil so I could not do that to it. Could not turn my back, and leave it vulnerable whereas I feel vulnerable yet my tears are often stuck. My tears are mine to own, but many are unborn. What does it mean to be alive in this world?

Where do I belong? Emotional intensity builds and builds, but even the best carpenter cannot finish this project because it’s too overwhelming. I am overwhelmed. The paths forwards are in the shadows of the weeping willow trees, and sometimes I feel they are cursed just because of their name with “weeping”. I hate weeping. A few weeks ago I cried so hard, then skipped some stones that were also hard breaking the water as if it were glass.

His house is lightless, and he got his window broken into by a blue bird that flew into it, and got its wing injured. I would have hated to be that bird unable to fly that freedom taken away just like that. I don’t feel grounded while standing up so I lay on the ground, but it feels like I am still falling. A weeping willow tree has fallen, but without a sound because I wasn’t there to witness, and I wasn’t there to shed a tear.

I want to move forward in this life, but the difficulty sometimes feels insurmountable. I’m uncertain that path yet I tell people we’re all on a journey to comfort them. If only I could get away, and run away—even if in a spaceship—I wouldn’t because still I’d be trapped by my own mind.

I am not a psychic yet I am a visionary. A visionary with my poetry and imagery for a different level of consciousness. To spread darkness and to spread light. I am a messenger, and I try to bridge the gap of misunderstanding in this life of mine. I came to the conclusion that sometimes I do belong with the weeping willow trees, and to transcend my hate against them because I am not a hateful person. The path forward is a path whereas I must take it moment by moment.


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