Open your eyes.
No, actually open your eyes.
…Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken.
What you’re seeing right now
Is the back of your eyelids.
The burning intensity,
Overwhelmingly painful darkness
And infinite nothingness
Of the back of your eyelids.
…Oh, really? Are you sure?
Because if your eyes were already open,
I would think that by now
You would’ve noticed
The soft clover underneath you
Splashed with violets;
The arm around your shoulder
Warming your shaking body as you cry.
You would have seen the sun
Rising through your window this morning
As you struggled to revive your tired mind,
And you’d have watched fiery light bounce off the sleek fur
Of your loyal fluff-armored protector guarding your pillow,
Ever-dozing, but always with one eye open.
You would have caught a glimpse
Of the prisms of color
That danced between the sparkling droplets
Last night when it rained.
You’d have been entranced
By the rippling reflections they left on the concrete
That mirrored the sky, swirling with the stars of van Gogh.
Open your eyes, little one.
Witness the beauty of the little moments
That dot every second of your existence.
So. Whenever you’re ready…