I lost my glasses.

 07/10/25

By: Drusilla U.

Happily handicapped.

I lost my glasses and I found it pretty strange. I didn’t have a tantrum or go into a rage. I accepted it — bad things tend to happen to me. Now I can’t see a thing. Not the roads nor people’s beady black eyes piercing into me like a cooly steely knife punishing me for not meeting their standards. Blue, brown, green, doesn’t matter — at all eyes are black. They gleam with secrets, darkness, and hidden desires only their eyes showcase so explicitly.

Blue wandering eyes reach for my face, I can feel it.

But I don’t have my glasses, I can’t see the way they stare at my incompetence and lack of refinement.

Everything is a blur, as if the whole world had a foggy screen plastered over it all. The only thing I can see are my hands.

Perfectly I see my callouses, my reddened, tired, aging hands. 

I remember distinctly, though the memory is distant: how small and soft they once were. 

I like it you know?

Being blind.

I see no one’s faces, no one’s anything, only downside is I could get hit by a car but I’m free from the binds of judgement, the prison that is comparison. 

The fear that is birthed by other people's eyes.

Unable to see anymore, I live more free as if in my own little bubble, my comforting small happy land. So when I try to look at someone from afar I feel only a sense of relief when their face and body is so blotched and fuzzy I can’t make sense of any of the outlines, only colors.

The world is a colorful murky mess, unpronounceable splotches without definition. Pools of colors. Small buildings suddenly become churches, gardens take the form of lakes, my mind plays tricks on me. 

 It’s all so comforting, really.

Relieving.

Foolish, yes?

But.

These faceless figures walk past me and I no longer see them watch me with persecution. 

I was happy in this ignorant handicap.

Happily blind.

Living in a daze.