Stony Faces
Stony faces:
My eyes are puffy and struggle to flutter open. Last night’s tears streak my cheeks. I know what I sight; I must look. Eyes swollen with crimson veins marring the whites, curled amongst blankets, hair tangled like a lion’s mane. I recall the many times I trudged to high school with such a face. Head bowed like a praying nun, late to class, where I cracked jokes with my friends. The smile would squint my eyes and conceal the previous evening’s events. It’s humiliating when the body exposes us to individuals that do not comprehend our grief. As such, I dread leaving the safety of the empty house and confronting the day.
