I cut my finger today. The blood fell on my apple slices red and thick against the crisp, cold white. It smudges against the cutting board, joining with the sticky juice and seeping into the wood grain.
I cried and I know I shouldn’t. The kids can hear me and my husband will want to know what’s wrong. I can’t tell him. I don’t have the words to tell him. My mind just isn’t up to the task of getting the feelings out. Not today.
I’m crying because the cut stings and it frustrates me that my apples are now ruined. I’m crying because Aretha Franklin’s voice is ringing in my ears, trying to block out my thoughts, to drown them in her own hearts hurts. I’m crying because today was long and hard and I’m worn from it all. I’m not crying for him, not today, maybe I will cry for him later but today that’s not it. I’m crying because of you I guess.
Today I met you for the first time. I had heard of you before, we’ve dodged around each other time and time again. I have heard your whispers from the edges of the world, I have seen your shadows circling hungrily, I have smelt your lingering presence in stale rooms that once held life and love. Today though I stood in front of you and looked you in the eye.
They try so hard to hide you, but you are the focus of the day, concealed yet on display. They try to separate you from it all, to make us forget that you are waiting for everyone, just a little ways down the road, hidden in the shadows so that we can’t see you coming. No one wants to see the truth that days like today make real.
No one wants to know that we are meat, that we are matter. That we fade and fall and decay.
That we rot.
I don’t know how to tell my husband all these things so when he asks I fall in his arms and cry into his chest. ‘I cut my finger’ is all I say, and he helps me clean up the ruined apples.
Created: Sep 29, 2014Document Media