Worrisome Discoveries

I lie on my back and stare at the leaves. They sigh and synthesize the peroxide in my wounded side. I blink at their concern and let them curl in their enrapture of my silent regard. The tainted grass is filled with insects. They crack gravel under their sharp limbs. I feel them scuttle across my skin, but I don't pay them the same heed as the cohort of boughs.

"I worked hard for these layers", I run my curled hand across my arm bent across my stomach. The sunlight has saturated my skin with light. I can't look for long.

"You're low maintenance and easy to talk to, but you don't let anyone in." I don't nod. I don't even look at you. But you know I hear and understand the depth and truth in what you say. I begin to open my mouth, but you fill it with words, "By denying people entry, you've built a shroud over your real character. All you do is adapt to other people, and that makes you seem like a perfect friend." I close my mouth. "They feel safe with you. You feel safe because you're alone when you're with them. But you love their company too much. You can't be alone for long."

The leaves are shimmering. They look so violent against the blue sky. I felt so comfortable with them a moment ago, but your words turn their genial sigh into a hissing torrent in my head. You know me too well, too well, too well. You found a secret door I forgot to lock and let yourself in. You knew that if you announced your presence I'd bar the door. I feel invaded (violated). I'm not alone anymore, but now I'm vulnerable and I can't bare it. Without thinking I get up and walk away. I don't say goodbye. You aren't sad when I leave you to bask in the shade alone.