The Falling Edge
Ya see, the weird thing for my family to visit is not that they make me feel happy or good, or anything because rarely does that happen (and rarely happened, so go figure).
It's just that I end up questioning every single aspect of my life downright to my fingernails and the way I breathe and how my skin changes from tan to tanner during the summer. Because it's natural, but it's not somehow.
No one has ever asked me to write in Spanish .
And when They ask me to, my fingers ache and itch and tingle and words crash in my head and I just simply cannot. The words stick to my brains, refuse to leave and become, exist, in front of me.
And yeah, maybe I am a tiny, tiny mind you, bit embarrassed to show my voice to everyone and everyone being able to put a face to the voice. And I'm afraid that they'll realize behind all my polite smiles hides reality.
The truth will set you free, they tell me. And someday I'll be able to say it too. Just because I want, doesn't mean I will get.
Life doesn't quite work that way. It never has.
And. I'm sorry. I truly am.
Someday I hope to truly make us all proud of my pathetic accomplishments. Until then, I'm sorry.
I'll write. In Spanish. And it won't be the beautiful veiled truth you expected.