I wore it in middle school. It was drenched in self disdain, loathing of white and it was such a pity. I really liked wearing it.
But it never suit me. I was always smiling and for some reason, I convinced myself that I was wrong. That somehow, my original thinking was the creation of an inhumane organism.
I was less than human, but still laughing louder than anyone, still making other's day just a bit better.
That was me, a practical sunshine covered in black cloth.
Why had I gave in to my young intuition? I knew nothing, I only knew what the song lyrics meant and had accidentally placed myself in the middle of the crossfire. In the battle between life and death, I was Jesus pretending to not be able to resurrect.
I was never really depressed. But I know how to handle sadness. And no, I don't talk it out, I cry.
Pure water that runs down my dirty face, becoming salty is my specialty.
It is after a good solitary cry that my person is at peace and content. Because I do not cry over one thing- I cry over everything I previously had no time to cry for.
Things like my sister's everlasting reproach, or my mother's doubt, or my father's distance,
I cannot touch any of them.
It is after a good solitary cry, that the piece of cloth calls for me.
It begs me to wear it.
Fabricated intolerance kept in the last drawer.
It is still my size.