If Only I Knew
I’ve spent my life in a shell. Never looking outside, never opening the curtains. Unaware and uninterested. Never seeking answers, or fulfilling desirable curiosity. Never turning on my tv for fear of a misguided truth. What would I become if I knew what was out there? A monster of my own deception. A creature of my own suspicions and wonders. But I simply know nothing of the sort. So what possible full length thoughts could I conjure. Knowing only what is inside these walls, barely knowing what is inside this mind. I find not resolution in the context of the tv, but more despair and disposition. So what pray tell is my use of a television if I do not plan on opening my eyes at any circumstance. Not one that could involve my faint understanding of what is beyond this interior. I choose not to open my eyes, I choose not see. But the sun teases me, as it dancing on my floor. Seeping through the drawn curtains, shadows masquerading on the shade creating wonder and subtle delight. But I can’t fathom the possibility of closing my own hand in on the rope, thus releasing the sunlight into my home. Into my arms. I can’t. So I back away and sit down, the cushion is worn but I can’t replace it.