Every day my face is burdened with lenses upon my nose. They’re small. Too small. But heavy. I can see the borders that separate clarity from haze. Dark, angry limits. All around the edges, my vision wavers, uncertain. Thus I walk past, never seeing, never thinking to turn my head and look.
I hate them.
No, that is not true. I do not hate them. I hate needing them.
In fact, I love them. Because with them, I can see. Not everything, but enough. Sometimes they show me the wrong things. Things I shouldn’t see, or don’t want to see. Sometimes I see darkness clawing its way out of blood-red lips. Black tar slugging past gleaming teeth and porcelain skin.
But ultimately, they are a blessing. Because they show me the wonders of the blue sky and the butterfly’s struggle and the ocean’s rage. Beauty that even the mind cannot fathom. Because with them, I can see you.