Blurry lines

A Micro-fiction in rhythm

*

I’ve misplaced my glasses.

It seems I always do.

Just when I think I’ve found a great place to hold them,

I misplace that place too.

I never really need them until I'm trying to do something important,

like drive.

Forget about contacts, they dry out my eyes.

After awhile, I got used to not wearing them.

The blurry lines became my friends.

Things meant to see up-close felt farther.

But it never mattered to me,

and I didn't even know I made my life harder.

By getting used to my blurry lines.

*

Growing up, they always made fun of me.

“The girl with the magnified eyes”

that looks like a bumblebee.

Cleaning my lenses constantly,

only gotten in the way,

and the hot boys didn’t like glasses on girls anyway.

*

But the older I got the easier I saw.

Not better, just mastered the dots.

It never caused me any trouble.

Though sometimes sentences ran together

like a crossword puzzle.

*

This is my third pair. And my last ones were rare.

I’m through with these glasses.

I can see just fine.

They are a waste of my time.

***

A celebration of 25,

candles, caviar, silk and wine,

which always seemed to exacerbate my

clumsy eyes.

Man, if I had worn my glasses tonight.

Its on my to-do list to get another pair,

but made excuses of the price,

because of the brands that I’d wear.

*

After such wonderful delight, as designated driver,

I drove us into the night.

Needing to stop for gas, the road a bit foggy,

I only had one glass?

Merging to head off of the underpass,

blinker clicking the arrow to the right,

slamming the horn, a Toyota in hindsight.

I swerved.

Swinging my car like a sling shot,

paling the SUV in my blindspot.

Last thing I remember was my face hitting the glass,

waking up three days later, I didn't know 25

would suddenly be her last.

*

After investigating, police let me go.

My blood count disclosed

sobriety from my

head to my toe.

*

Those glasses that I never wanted to wear

impaired not only my vision,

but my interference to see clear.

My doctor told me my my eyesight would only get worse.

If only I knew that before putting my friend

in a hearse.

*

My slothfulness bereaved me.

*

My insecurities I never thought to fight

had nothing to do with my glasses,

but the importance of needing my sight.

The kind of eyes that were windows for my lies.

Blinding the fate of not only my life.

*

After a year, I paid my therapist a visit of

old drear.

Grief.

She told me at some point I’d have to release.

Complimenting how much she loved my

new glasses,

and how good they looked on me.

****************************************

Thank you for reading. The events of this story are 100 percent fiction and are written for metaphor. Though, I’ve never worn glasses, I know what it’s like to navigate life through my own false lenses.