Jessica Meek
Bio
The gods sit in the clouds and mock us...
Stories (1/0)
Love, When Every Man is an Island
I’ve become a crier in my adult life. I blame my grandmother who is also responsible for my pre-mature greying. She’s gotten into the habit of crying every time we say goodbye. And every time we laugh too hard, which is often when we’re together. She’s a joyous woman. Anyway, I’ve embraced it, being a crier. Certain commercials will get me, lines in reality tv shows, trailers to movies...things that aren’t supposed to elicit a deep emotional connection, those things can sneak up on me like a crushing tsunami. One minute the waters are calm, typical--it’s a hotel commercial--then, bang, my throat closes, my tears rim, my heart clutches in my chest. These tsunamis of emotion grip me and all I can do is try not to give in. Holding my breath, I force the emotions into a tiny box and place the tiny box on a small shelf deep inside me. I both cherish and reject emotion. I think if I looked in my heart, I’d find row upon row upon row of tiny shelved boxes, where government secrets go to die. Obviously, one of the bulbs on row 138 flickers a bit, but no one’s there to notice. I don’t notice. I’ve become an adept emotional evader, which has served me well in a world of an undisciplined, dare I say, immoral reign of emotion.
By Jessica Meek3 years ago in Humans