shine your [sunlight] upon me; brik

I remember those days when it snowed, and I could pretend that the icy frost was what was making my heart so cold. But then the sun shone upon the frost and it trickled away like tears pouring from the eyes of a child. It is only now, with that sun upon me, that people realise the ice is inside of me, too. Inside of me, in a place where the sun never shines and the tears never dry. Why is it that people love the summer? Everything breathes in the summer, and it is so much harder to hide everything bundled below the top layer. It is as though the world strips off their defences and shows who they are beneath.

Who am I, though? I am Ivy Soren. I am the girl who shivers when the sun threatens to melt her resolve. I am the girl who cannot forgive, who will never forget. I am the girl who is so far beyond broken that nobody can stop her. But why must people treat me like I'm still fragile, when in reality I'm already so shattered that it wouldn't matter. I do not splinter at the slightest touch. I care not for the little things. But there is a line, a silent line, in my head. One side of the line is fine, is smiling. The other side of the line is a place so dark and grim that it is almost impossible to reach into it's depths. But if you do, you will regret it. The line has already been crossed, though, so people shouldn't worry about finding the ice within me. Why can they not help it to melt, for it stubbornly stays whole, biting, so cold and bitter and impossible to understand.

There are scars in my heart as there are scars on Indigo's body. The ones on her skin have healed, but the ones inside of me have only worn deeper in time, rubbing away at my very soul and tipping me so very slowly into insanity. That is a place I do not want to fall, but I am so, so helpless. More helpless that I was when those four walls encased my tiny figure, because before then I never knew there was something better, something to aspire to and hope for. Now I cannot be sure that there is not something beyond the walls of the District. Where Indigo can be content, I must ache for more.

This is why I hate summer. Ray of sunlight shine in beams through the window, but they drown me. I cannot take what they hold, for my pale skin resists it and shuns it and fears it. So instead I walk into the darkness of the factory and I cry. Because crying is the only thing I can do.

Thinking
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Talking
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