Cloudy, Playful Skies...

Every time I speak, I pretend that the world stops to listen. Every time I’m sad, I pretend that the universe notices and helps to make me happy. Every time I enjoy something, I pretend that it is the only thing in the world, so I am happy longer. I live in this world under the delusion that people really truly care about every facet, every corner of my soul. I know they have more important things to tend to, but let me have my fun. My make-believe world is much kinder than this world we share.
My make- believe world never tries to hurt me. It never tries to crush my tiny little ego beneath its much bigger heel. It genuinely cares about me, because it’s my imagination, and I’ll do with it what I please. You’re welcome to join me in this perfect place. But you are required to leave your troubles at the door; no sorrow is permitted past this point.
The sky is never blue here. Why? Because that’s the way I like it. A cloudless sky brings me no joy due to the absence of shadows playing hide-n-seek in the white billows above my head. The grass is never cut because it lives, and it would hurt if someone cut your head off every time you began to grow. Trees are bare, all the leaves lie on the ground. They stay there to provide a nice place to play, and they allow the tree to have its own character. In other words, I love the imperfections because that’s the way that God intended the world to be. Not imperfect, but creative– his way.
It is sad that I spend so much time in this unpopulated wasteland. It’s pathetic that I have more friends there than in this huge world that we share. It isn’t your fault because you refused to talk to me, nor acknowledge my presence, nor say “sorry I stepped on your toes, I didn’t see you there.” It’s my fault because I have stayed withdrawn. It’s my fault because I painted myself invisible. It’s my fault because I stuck my foot in your way just hoping that you’d notice I was there. Don’t beat yourself up, the blame isn’t yours to own.
I speak here, hoping, praying that someone will listen. Hoping that someone will take interest in what I have to say. I stay sad because I haven’t found a person who knows how to make me happy. When I am happy, let me stay that way. It doesn’t happen often, and my laughter won’t bring you pain for more than a few seconds anyway. It’s not like I snort. The pretend life I live may be happier, but sooner or later, I will have to break into the real world, the cruel world, the world we have to learn to share.
Stop gluing the leaves back on the trees here!
-Jessica D. Hunt