The Veil

prose poetry

Photo by Gwen Mamanoleas on Unsplash

I’m coming to you from behind a veil.


You can’t see it. 

But it’s there, in front of me. 


To you, I’m just standing here, unencumbered. 

Awake.

Alive and present in our shared space.


But really, I’m miles away. 

Stuck. 
Struggling. 
Screaming. 

You can’t see or hear it. 
You just have to trust me. 

Suspend your disbelief for a moment, 
and just imagine it 
for me.


A thin veil

        like clouded-over cellophane
pulled taut between us.

Separating you   from   me. 
And the real me 
        
        from the me 
that you see.


I see that me too. 

I see how I look to you.
 

I’m all right. I’m cool. I’m funny. I’ve got my shit together. 
        I’m not afraid.

I’m not afraid 
        
        of being afraid. 


Since you can’t see the veil, I can’t ask you to move it for me. 

I can’t expect you to understand the way it works or why it chose 

me of all people 

        to cling to. 


I don't know how it works. 

I don't know why …