Choice Specs

She hid behind rose-tinted glasses.

They served perfectly as curtains that hid panic and diverted betrayal. She wore them well, but with more dependence than proud ownership.

People used her to get ahead, and, to keep the scars quiet, she convinced herself she was doing a good thing, being useful and gaining value. Despite her efforts, though, their own truth bled through. 

Scars talk. Wounds ramble on. And blood cries out. 

She quit fighting and let them dress her in their massive, crusty cloak. Nothing quite fit, but it's all she had been offered. 

At the corner of “No One Knows” and “Nobody Cares,” she walked around with the blood of innocents dripping from her fingertips. Each drop fell like tears from that seemingly-vacant world outside her own, leaving crater-sized marks in history.

Sliding an oversized sleeve over her arm, she raised a hand to her face and pushed her glasses up snugly...

One came and saw her through a pair of crimson lenses. The Father asked, “When will she know, when will someone tell her? She is covered in the Blood of Love.”

You are covered in the Blood of Love.