[an abstract piece describing my experience of recently becoming someone with low vision blindness]
This throbbing within my head is pounding; enough to the extent of which I can relate to every beam of some safe structure that has been riveted in such a fashion where so many other facets and arms of support have just been pressed and anchored upon it to uphold their own strength.
Even in the quiet still, the echoes of the drilling and the sounds akin to crepitus continue to ripple as the fibres ache from breaks and cracking under the spinning of bits and pressures of affixation. This beam is now attempting to settle calmly despite the restricted ability to adjust to the drops in temperature that surrounds it; changes of which seem arbitrary and are outside of its control.
Under all this, and as are the beams of safe structures, I am somehow to remain as the bearer of immeasurable weight. As I am grateful and understanding of this cause, the sounds of joy from those who find comfort beneath my outstretched purpose are piercing as they are wound. The smiles from the surety of the resulted proper efforts are a new exchange of trust as I’m now only to believe they’re there through assumption and contextual implication.
The sight of them are beyond my scope. What lies unspoken remains unheard in ways I dread to be forced to acknowledge; a means by which exists through causes I cannot control.
The warmth they intend to give is known to me, however, it’s cold up here. It’s unsettling, yet I am to remain calm in all this lest they realise I’m now needing the anchoring of their support in ways I have not understood how to communicate down the wire. I remain steadfast, constant, unmovable; perhaps to a fault.
The distances from the sounds within this safe structure resonate with currents of energy that surge upward; enough to illuminate a vision of distraction as everything worth reaching for are, in that moment, closer than they appear. Perhaps I’m just attempting to convince myself of this closeness of distance.
However, I am certain that my eyes feel as though they are where a comfortable owl’s talons have securely found his perch on what has been identified as a most sturdy beam. Unbeknownst to this owl deep into slumber, the restfulness of his posture is his alone as is the timing of when he’ll decide to take his leave.
Thus, in hesitation, the pit in my stomach is quietly preparing for a stir of which has a likelihood of growth; the uneasiness only enough to be ahead of itself so it may have sooner departure due to already being on it’s way out from a worn welcome. Yet this same stirring is restricted in such a way that I’d remain capable of exchanging such anticipation for the lightness of which can only come from a countering pleasant surprise.
I am still hopeful that surprise will be more than pleasant as such will be the sight of three perfectly arranged freckles on the nose of the most beautiful countenance created as she’s gracing me with the privilege of being the cause of her smile.
I pray mine own riveting causes not similar discomfort as she has been so kind, so selfless, as to take upon herself the weight of my beam.