Twilight Realizations

Darkness.  The world has been immersed in a blanket of shadow, as it is every night.  You know how the old saying goes... "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse."  While she isn't stirring, she is still wide awake, thoughts stabbing and cutting at her brain like a knife.  She shuts her eyes tightly as the wind is literally knocked out of her by realizations which hold no physical power, though they have still managed to batter her body into a helpless heap, like skinny jeans without a nice pair of legs to cling lovingly to.

She is tired.  Every ounce of her patience has been squeezed mercilessly out of her by screaming mouths, meaningless promises, hands like shackles, and challenging glares.  In her mind her very own tongue has become a viper, lashing out with a seething bite, spitting out venom of honesty with no consideration of feelings or punishments.  Really she's not capable of such things.  It's more like a hamster... always covered in fluff to make every blow soft and comfortable, though it will occasionally nip.  But she doesn't know if she will be able to hold up much longer.  Those traditional healing methods she learned from Grandma are doing more harm than good though mentally they are of some aid, and she's really just tired of being completely and totally helpless.

Tonight her painfully slow, unobservant cranium has managed to completely unfold a mystery in her life.  She lets out a pathetic sound, indistinguishable between a sob and a desperate gasp for air.  Now that she knows... she almost wishes she could go back.  This information might be too much for her.  What is one supposed to do after their most terrifying suspicion is confirmed?  How does one react upon finding out that the sculptor, after putting all of their meager salary into supplies for their upcoming work, every bit of skill and effort they can muster, every moment of their free time... just doesn't like what they made.  She can understand how one would want to just take up that disappointment into their clenching fingers, and hurl it at what they can only imagine to be their own shortcomings, and the unfairness that is this life.

Crash!  She buries her face more forcefully into her suffocating pillow, the sound and energy of the shattering pot running up her spine like a chill.  She knows she is the pot. 

She is disappointment.

She is an expert at making up metaphors, as well, and continues to do so.  For the first time in her life, the creativity and pleasure of playing with words doesn't help.  Nothing does.  Another first... there is nothing to be done.  Nobody is doing anything wrong.  She and her are just puzzle pieces, both with little nubs which stick out to cling to another, so that no matter what they do, they will never fit together.

The only thing to do is deal with it.

Her distraught gasps for air turn into peaceful breaths, and soon she drifts into a world of dreams, where none of this matters.  If she weren't too busy fighting off murderers with her superhero for a brother, getting stuck inside of giant pears with characters from TV shows from her childhood, and taking huge last minute tests in her underwear, she'd realize that it is a really sad thing that she would rather just never wake up from said dreams.

... and at once she knew she was not magnificent.