Shine

Stop shining.

If you shine, I'll have to close my eyes. And I'll miss you.

This image of you, burnt in my brain... this image.. it's fading.

Your face isn't yellow orange anymore.

With every sweep of a broom outside... with every turn of the ceiling fan, with every note of Alexandre Desplat's music, I feel the unfeeling. The numbness in my eyes.. the tears that are lashing like angry waves against my brain.. the memories that are trying to shatter into smithereens.
Life becomes a pregnant pause when the music ends on YouTube and the only other sound in the room is my breath. I mistake it for disgust. It escapes me. If only I could, too.

Yesterday, therapy seemed too expensive... as if almost a luxury. Sadness... a hobby. Closure... an exercise, an amusement. Like drawing or pottery or woodwork. An activity. Something that gets you a remark. On days like those, you grow restless when you see young boys with red eyes, waiting in a hospital queue. You want to click photos and erase the redness on the computer. Paint. Photoshop. Whatever. Make it a pure black again.
Shining eyes.
With light trapped in them.

Trapped. Yes.