Let me escape this darkness. It is suffocating, like drowning. The world sees the physical. It has no idea the depth of the cave.
How does a stranger hit the mark so well; or, are there simply a multitude to observe? How many fictional Elphaba’s are there,…exactly? In the end, she was saved from the fire by innocence.
For a moment, my Elphaba became Neria. Strong and able to fly. But, she made friends with the tortoise. This cave is portable; for when the civilized are hard to avoid. And, you are forced to ingest the hypocrisy.
Long ago, I was handed the hem of a robe. A tiny corner to keep in my hand. Only years later and, never all at once, would I learn what it meant.
The rain is pure when it leaves Father’s hand. But, by the time it reaches us,…Neria’s wings are bound by the thick, black tar we use for repairing leaks. Much later would I learn that it is Mother’s soft, silent tears that attempt to blanket the tar in white. While Their Baby tries to transfuse our pride with love. I feel my understanding came too late.
