Glasses

Some nights I leave them off so that the streetlamp starts to look like the moon and distant lights like the stars. I leave them off so that edges are softer, so when I brush against them, I’m less likely to bleed. Without them I don’t see the grills on my window- only the wide open sky. When I run my fingers over my face and look in the mirror, I look ethereal, fresh, alive. I leave them off so I don’t see disappointed glances or smiles marked “Fragile!”. People wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I prefer not to see. Through my imperfect eyes, flaws seem like a work of fiction. I throw them down, crush them beneath my heel. I will not see, I will not feel.

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