by Jessica Kraker
I’m not like you. I don’t gain clarity in daylight. Things don’t “look better in the morning” to me. Everything just seems sharper, harsher in the sun’s rays. Like the truth. Because you can hide from the truth at night. You can run away and pull the covers over your head so the monsters can’t see the fear in your eyes. But those monsters are even worse in daylight when you realize they aren’t just figments of your imagination. They’re people just like you. And they’re hungry for your naivety.
You wake up each morning with fresh eyes and an open mind, but all I can do is feel their fangs at my throat, waiting to chomp down when I least expect it. I am always waiting to die. But you? You’re always waiting to live, to get another shot in at them when they hesitate. You see changes on the horizon where I see storm clouds gathering behind us, looming ominously as usual.
I rage against you whenever you drag me out into the light. You tell me its beautiful if I’d just open my eyes. You tell me that I’ll suffocate under those covers if I hide out there any longer. And all these things you tell me are always in my mind and on the tip of my tongue are always words of agreement, but I can never force them out. I can’t be the partner in crime that you ask for. I can only be the back-up, the guardian waiting in the wings where the spotlights don’t shine.
Maybe one day I’ll wake up with you beside me and see things as clearly as you do. But for now, I’ll cherish our moments in the dark where I can follow the moon’s path as it traces your curves under the covers as I choose to hide in them and you let them fall where they want. In the dark I can hope and dream of a better future for us, and in the light, you can build it.
