Calm Stare.

The convulsions go away at some point: bitter begets sweet.  And you wake up in the dream suddenly; the feeling of memory loss doesn't come. You look into the depths of a well with a glint of life at the deep end. The water, the flow, the glistening down there. You have no problem drifting towards the green sway as you slip into the current. It's soft and calm. The electric tangle above the surface crackles in the distance, that sheet of terror with ever present authority. It's back there but you continue on into the environmental sound. An atmosphere like a diorama of Lego men searching the jungle for a plastic jewel; measures of your childhood and warmth. Construction paper and Play-doh palm trees. The feeling envelops you. It carefully lays hands upon you, pulling the wire hangers from your veins and peeling the dead leaves from your forehead. All the dead wreckage slowly moving away in concentric circles like the radial dancing of birds across the unending sky. You don't try to explain why you don't deserve it. You believe the caress and the gaze. Your tears are of joy and pain through gain. You let it tear a hole through you that won't close. It was close, for a while, that old sadness you wouldn't let go. It was a close call; those leaps into self manipulation. Self deprecation, self mutilation. All for the sake of an illusive idea you didn't even have a grasp of. A vague notion of a gift through desperation. Bitterness gave you romanticized depression. You've been assuming the positive is the negative. Your life as a study in photographic science; the silver nitrate blooming into the opposite of reality. Yes you are sensitive. You are sensitive to light. But it is developed every day. Those blue eyes like stars you've finally learned to navigate by are a proof.