Tess O'Riordan

Stale - A Zuihitsu

Tess O’Riordan

At 2 am, I am at peace. It’s just me, the moon, and the occasional whir of traffic.

Clotted mascara borders my weary eyes when I wake in the morning, the blood of yesterday’s anguish still painting my lips.

These days drag by, weighing on me like a rain-drenched coat would burden frail shoulders.

Solemn cul de sacs. Flickering, yellow street lights that illuminate the shadows of the same faces that raised me.

I graze my fingertips across my skin. The soft divots that dance along my thighs. Gentle, crimson peaks scatter across my forehead, barely masked by a sheer blanket of expired powder.

The only one in the audience for me, my mother’s claps echo through the drab hotel banquet hall.

Every day, I walk through the hallway with ghosts on either side of me.

The maroon hue that has settled beneath my eyes exceeds the power of layered concealer. Two black eyes from the knuckles of life.

The barely-green street signs that tower above have begun to tarnish, their names hardly readable.

I’ve never been good at eye contact, avoiding even myself in the mirror.

Each time I cross the finish line, throw the confetti, toast the champagne, a new beast brandishes its claws, ready to brawl.

Why does her skin glow, while mine looks like it was made up by a mortician?

On my walk home, I pass an abandoned hardcover novel, soaking in a murky puddle.

One thing I’m trying to learn is to cherish the now. My older self will look back with much fonder eyes. “I wish I knew how beautiful I was,” she’ll say, mourning her youth. Deep crevices and wrinkles chronicle her days spent weeping.

An indistinguishable odor fills my nostrils, vibrant neon lights illuminating otherwise dingy alleyways.

Shouldn't I be worried when even the motivation to take my makeup off dwindles?

The chasms in my ears once reserved for jubilant laughter are now filled with cool air. The staleness lingers, festering.

The grit of a city street beneath my soiled sneakers bellows out for me.

Author’s Note: To me, writing is an opportunity to let your mind and soul roam free. The more I write, the more I appreciate its beauty. It is so incredible how words can be arranged to hold such varied yet significant meaning.