in the absence of the sun

by Emily Curtis

You didn’t listen to me when I tried to explain that I have scars so long, so deep, you may never find the ends of them

Here’s to the women who come home each day, unbutton the grief, shrug it off their shoulders and try to forget it for a while before they are forced to wake up and press repeat

My biggest fear is that I will end up telling you everything that keeps me up at night That you will store this information away and book a one way flight while I wait with trembling hands to see if those files get leaked

Little toy girls playing pretend, holding back tears so the powder on their faces won’t wash away and reveal the truth beneath it

The shelves are slowly emptying They are pushed to the corners to make room for the humming machinery that comes from this era of novelty -my room looks more like a library

the way I twirl my hair out of habit

my quiet competitiveness 6. the way I point out my flaws like I’m trying to convince you of them

the fact that I made a list of things that makes me unlovable when really the list should only have one number: 10. zero

The words, they just flow out of her like tears they dry up on the pages and she will never feel satisfied because there is no perfect combination of letters that will adequately describe what she feels

I wish I had the ability to sleep so peacefully, easily, but I am among the few who remain awake with the owls -in the absence of the sun

They compete over who can become the best version of generic

Fatigue dances behind my eyelids, but my brain still hums to the melody of the moonlight

Irony: friends sitting together with screens shoved between their faces complaining about the weak connection

These words I write, why I decided to write them, none of it will matter

You fear the damage they could do if you let them know your secrets -why you push them away

I live among the hardcovers stacked in piles higher than Everest because it is easier to feel through fictional characters the loss the love the heartbreak the tragedy it all comes at once and then it is gone with the close of the cover -from the comfort of my bedroom

To cry over spilled milk is completely acceptable -the tears will not end you

There will always be a loose screw or an uneven floorboard -there is no such thing as a perfect life

need my old friend Patience to stop by and remind me to wait and blindly trust with more grace

Empathy tugs lightly on my shirt sleeve and gently whispers in my ear, “they are struggling too”

You tear me down like last year’s calendar on New Year’s Day my resolution is to stop letting you

And I never used to speak out of turn, the latch on my mouth remained untouched, but that changed sometime in between the “you can’ts” & “you don’t dare’s”

And right after your ABC’s you learn that God created everyone equal, pink is not just a girl’s color, and boys are allowed to cry -how it should be

I wasn’t a damsel in distress and didn’t need a prince to sweep me off my feet

Learn to take a compliment with grace even if you don’t believe it

And then I see the fallen ones and it makes me wonder if they were knocked down or if they didn’t have the strength to stay rooted to the ground -I understand now that some roots are just too weak

Reality smokes about a thousand packs of them a day, never pausing to consider what opportunities he would have if he quit, what the world would become if he wasn’t addicted to lighting them up only to inhale one puff and then stub them out, reaching for another t...