A Sunshine Glaze

A Sunshine Glaze

'Drawn from our footsteps, hiding behind the figures of those who brave the lights.'


I wonder what a shadow feels like. 


Open-mouthed and empty worded, they speak on borrowed tongues, speaking through the sentences of others. They'll survive as a silent mimic, accepting credit but deserving none. And how they enjoy it. Their steps fall into footprints, while their actions become exaggerated as they desperately attempt to stay in sight, and not fall prey to the backdrop that begs for abandon. Shadows are mere mimes, dancing beyond the gaze of the sunlight. 


They fade, however. As the light weakens so does their outline, paling away into the background and leaving nothing to show for their colourless existence. Not least until the next sunrise, the next flare, or the next flash of a lightbulb that reminds us that those same shadows are still there, ready to once again imitate the best of us. They never really left. They never will.


No-one remembers the ones who mingle with the dusk. It's hard to find an outline when the bright lights desert us. That, probably, is my biggest fear. I can't imagine myself living as a shadow, so content to match the footsteps of others, never straying from their own sheltered lives. I don't want to fade.


The funny thing is, most people do.

Three Cheers

Three Cheers

'Tongue tied and terrified.'


Emotion quells my eloquence.

I'm rarely speechless. Honestly, wordlessness doesn't come easy to me. It's an unfamiliar and alien situation, a strange reminder that some things are best left unsaid. Just felt. I'm not used to that. I'm unaccustomed to having nothing to say. Some might say that it's a bad thing, and I'd have to agree. The number of times my sarcastic comments or painful truths have got me into trouble surely should've taught me to learn to keep my mouth closed at all, if not most times. But they haven't. I can't help but continue with my lack of self-restraint, blurting out the most inappropriate sentences at the most inappropriate of times. It's only those sleepless nights where I can't speak louder than the silence that I succeed in saving my breath. The best and worst conversations always seem to take place in my head. Usually with myself.

Late nights and overthinking are starting to become a habit for me. It's just something about the empty loneliness of it all that begs me to fill my time with mindless contemplating. They're tiring.  I've never felt like saying so much, when so much of what I want to say shouldn't be felt. And as much as I try to forge the right sentences, those moments just strangle all my attempts at expressiveness. I'll lack the composure to choose the right words, choking on every emotion my tongue tries to convey. They become brash and irrational as my restraint loses out to fear and feelings. Fear of feelings, maybe. So I give up and let the silence overwhelm me. Silence is never simple though. Especially not for me.

We'll struggle with the ruptures that don't subside, or eyes that fail to hide what their tiredness really means. Because really, those nights are only ever about trying to make sense out of our most feared emotions. The ones that never fail to keep us awake as we lie restless, questioning our worth. They're harsh. We judge ourselves in the worst way possible, as the voices in our heads continue to gleefully toy with the despair we face. And yet, even with our dignity stripped and the words that do so well to slip, the truths that we've avoided for so long eventually surface. Honesty is hard to suppress when all you truly want is closure. 


I should get more sleep.