The Petals in The Light of Today

The world around me didn’t respond to my realisation, and nothing could be heard but the sound of the petals grazing the sand. The plays stopped, and I was left once again alone with my thoughts.

No tears were seen for what I felt that day wasn’t sorrow but a mixture of disbelief and devastation. Everything around me felt heavy. I could feel each breath I took, the resistance of my feet against the sand, as I dragged my lifeless feet forward.

One step at a time.

My eyes glazed as if attempting to cover up what I had just seen. My vision hazed, my heart heavy, my mind clogged with things I was forced to forget, and yet no hate could be felt, no sadness could be stirred.

I felt nothing.

Neither sadness nor happiness.

Neither calmness nor anger.

Just the hollow weight of absence.

Is this how it feels to give up?

Not a cry for help, not a collapse or a sudden discourse, but just the quiet invitation of the waves, crawling toward me, asking nothing.

Before I had time to fully accept what I had just watched, another petal fell, revealing the same greyed-out play began.

What troubles was it going to show me this time?

I joked about it, but in reality, I was scared of what I would face, scared of what truths may be uncovered.

Scared of the play that would be acted out in front of me.

The play begins to roll with the same greyed-out film that it always had. It showed what looked like a normal day, the sun was casting its rays of grey into the window onto the person's face, barely just waking them up.

It was warm, it looked to be summer outside of the grey window, the boy dragged himself out of the bed and into the bathroom, seemingly beginning to start the day.

Avoiding eye contact with the mirror as much as possible, afraid of the reflection that stared back, he brushed his teeth and brushed his hair all while staring at the sink below him. Eyes dull from the repetition of this life that seemed normal.

The play rolls on, showcasing the boy with his wardrobe doors open, inside, two outfits of clothes lay in front of him.

The one on the left, seemingly beautiful, freeing, new, almost as if it had some colour to it.

The one on the right, warn, tattered. The greyout outfit lay hung up, the sleeves long, not suitable for the weather outside.

The boy stared at both options, the outfit on the left calling towards something inner, something perhaps left undiscovered. The outfit on the right called towards something known, perhaps something normal.

Before the boy made a decision, his hand was held tightly at his wrist. Little lines could be made out upon the surface of the boy’s skin, but before you could take a closer look, he quickly covered them with the sleeve like chains of the outfit on the right.

The outfit was way too heavy for the weather that was outside, and sure enough, he was sweating a lot and yet refused to take off the long sleeves or roll them up. He let out a smile that said I’ll be fine.

After all, this is normal.

Before I could begin to formulate an answer to what I had just watched, another play began its run.

This time, the boy stands at the edge of a bridge, not a large one, but a quiet bridge. Tucked away between trees and morning mist. Beneath it, the river moves slowly, like the waves crashing against my feet.

The boy’s dressed in the same outfit with sleeves that act like chains, the same greyed-out normal. However, in the bag beside him, folded carefully, is the other outfit, the one that had a glimpse of colour, the one that looked more freeing.

The one that feels like the truth.

He imagines walking across the bridge in the other outfit, imagining someone seeing him, the silence, the questions and the shift in how they’d look at him.

He wants to be seen, he wants someone to know, to understand…But instead he tuns away from the bridge and walks the path that he knows. The bag thumping at his side, with the outfit inside remained a constant reminder.

The bridge remains behind, until it can no longer be seen, not visible, but not forgotten. With his hand clutched at his wrist, he walks away, only looking back once at the possibility of maybe being seen.

With that, the play ends…

After being given some time to reflect upon what I saw inside the play, I began to question what was around me.

How is any of this normal? I asked, pondering how and when suffering in silence becomes the norm for society.

As I stood there in a pool of my silence, a question formed in my mind.

Which path is truly mine to choose?

Nothing but the crashing of the waves responded to my question; I already knew the answer to that question, after all, I’ve pondered it many times before.

I turn to face the sea that covers the rest of my view, hoping to find a drop of an answer.

“Do you ever feel like it’s never enough? Like, no matter how much you pull, strive, drag, and claw, none of it will ever matter?” I begin to voice my thoughts out loud, pondering if anything that I could do would ever hold any power over my life.

“Will it ever matter?”

“Was there any point in this struggling?”

I fall to my knees, clutching at the sand that lies beneath my feet and watching it fall through the gaps in my hands like a sand timer counting down.

“What’s the point?” I call out to the world as if expecting an answer.

I’m the reason I’m here…

And now I’m the reason I can’t get out…

A never-ending cycle of hating myself…

I lay down on the sand, letting the ocean beckon me closer with each passing wave. Staring into the sky that’s voided of all light.

I built this cage, locked the door, and now I call it home…