Blindfold.

When I open my eyes I am struck by how ordinary everything around me looks. The sheets are grey and on the right hand corner there's an amalgamation of tiny little holes because I won't stop smoking on the bed. The curtains are a little bit longer than they need to be but it doesn't bother me because I love the sombre blue colour. I can see my make-up cabinet across the room, it's hazy but I know exactly what lies inside the old wooden frame so I can see it clearly in my head. When we moved recently I was amazed to discover just how much make up I own. I couldn't tell you how I went from the girl with one lipstick to the girl who owns three types of make-up removers based on the part of the face that needs to be cleaned, but here we are. I even use them occasionally.  

My German books and notes are lying on the other side of my face. I have to study. Going back to studying in this manner has convinced me that all the time I could have been studying alongside work is time I have wasted not achieving my full potential. The human brain can handle one job and one full time degree. I know this. Why haven't I been doing this? I like the books but they don't look how they look in my head. I want them leather bound, black, with neat gold-lettering and sort of worn out pages. This is what I want all my books to look like, but none of them do. Well most of them are worn out and sort of damaged in one way or another but aside from that. These ones look like normal books, like the rest of my books, various colours and bold attractive modern covers. Most of the time that seems normal but when I'm reading one of them and I turn the book back to the cover, I'm shocked, I'm shocked by how *ordinary* the visual experience is.

Like right now.

I'm shocked by how ordinary everything around me looks.

I can see my laptop. I don't like that word. I can see my computer and, my goodness, I just know if they took swabs from it they could find various new substances and mutated species. I don't know why I cannot respect this gadget that I bought with a lot of my own money. I never could. I've never treated a computer well. Well, I treat my phone very well because I use it a lot. My phone is definitely my central device and I respect it. My laptop I treat like a Netflix-dispensing tray. God, I am a horrible person. The laptop doesn't agree with me aesthetically either though. I just don't enjoy how they look. It's not that I find them ugly, just uninteresting.

Like a lot of things. I see around.

Like the starry, quiet night and the tree branch I can see outside the window. I'm amazed it looks so calm. One moment ago when my eyes were closed it felt like there was a storm outside and I swear everytime I decide not to look, inside my brain it's raining. It's raging like the violence I do unto myself by the hands of those I love. Only rain seems fitting to live, everything else surprises me by existing sometimes.

I'm surprised it's so clear and quiet outside, instead of pouring magic in the filthy streets. I'm surprised these sheets aren't ripped and colour coordinated with every aspect my life. I'm surprised there are curtains and furniture instead of black and glittery enchanted forests. I'm surprised there are doors and windows, and not alleys and mountains.

Inside my head there's an old photo studio and there are five available backdrops against which to set the picture that will represent your life. I like my backdrops. I like what I see when I see  nothing at all. It makes it easier to pretend away the ordinary when you replace it with your ideal backdrop. It makes it easier to dwell on luxurious experience.

Like the sound of your belt against my face, and how it feels like the rain on a warm summer night. That doesn't surprise me at all. The rain, such an extraordinary thing. As extraordinary as the night. That doesn't surprise me at all. When I choose to close my eyes the world looks as extraordinary as it feels. When you choose for me it feels even more so. Then everything looks redder than it is; the blood, your eyes, my skin. It looks redder than any red you've ever seen with your eyes. When I can choose how to colour everything in the world with my paintbox, everything is black and grey and hopeless intermittent spurts of red. When you close my eyes, colour is abolished. Everything is more pleasing to my eye that sees nothing.

The blade is duller. Rustier.
The night is louder. Stormier.
The glass is broken. The clouds are gray. The sheets are black and unburnt. There are candles and silver holders. There are meadows. Mountains. Valleys. Storms.

And then you pull me out of the storm and you make me see. You make me look at the colours and the white lights and the quiet night.

And I'm surprised.

I'm surprised, the world can look so ordinary, when it feels so very extraordinary.