Shattered Mirage
Perceiving the world through rose-colored glasses made it seem like a firework, so bright and colorful, resounding and vivid. The innocence and naivety that were intertwined with this perspective held me so tightly in their grasp of irresistible velvet maroon strings akin to a dazed marionette, lost in the reverie.
As time flew by I held on to a lone flower that bloomed and blossomed on its own accord. Its hallucinogenic effect and the overpowering scent left me transfixed and infatuated with its allure. Though its charm was amplified and accentuated through the flower’s pulchritudinous petals, which glimmered radiantly day and night.
At one point or another, the glasses started slipping from my eyes. I haven’t noticed this or I seemed to be delusional when it first began. Trying to retain their influence led me to desperation and eventually utter despair which I had hidden deeply underneath my skin and bones in an attempt to claw my way back to ignorant bliss. Concurrently, the luminous petals of my precious flower began falling off one by one.
Today those rose-colored glasses fell onto the floor. They made no sound when they hit the cold grey concrete. I instinctively sought out my flower and observed it with no lenses or filters. Its petals seem to have withered a long time ago and it smelled rotten from the inside.
I took a step towards the glasses and stomped on them with my bare feet crushing them underneath the pressure. They looked so pathetic that I hadn’t even felt the pain and wounds on my feet.
I walked over to the flower leaving a trail of red as I stepped closer. I barely touched it and the remaining petals fell down and disappeared from the stem which they used to cling onto. For some reason, I felt empathy towards what was left of that flower and I placed it in my hair just above the place where the glasses used to rest on my ears.
Isn’t it much better to see everything as it truly is?
I touched the flower again, nothing fell off.
I touched my face, there were no tears.
