Floodlit White

Floodlit white. Not the white you see on a piece of paper or the white that comes from the soap bubbles that turned your eyes screaming red when your cousin told you to close your eyes but you were too stubborn to listen. But the white that comes from the time you woke up next to an open window, and the sun shone brightly on the white sheets that you were wrapped up in, and the wind blew in the most perfectly tempered breeze you had ever felt. The kind of white so beautiful you opened your eyes and thought you had died. The type of white that makes you feel like an orb of light. The type that comes directly from the sun but doesn’t hurt your eyes, instead is so soft and so peaceful that it let’s your eight year old self calmly accept that you have woken up mid journey to heaven. Not the type of white from the clouds when everyone saw a horse and you were only able to see a misshapen cotton ball. Not the type of white that comes from brushing your teeth as you gag on the taste of toothpaste, not the type of white that still makes you gag when you think about how much you hate the taste of toothpaste. but the type of white you can feel on your skin and inside you, the type of white you can inhale, the type of white that reminded you of a calm that you never felt. Not the type of white from when you spat out one of your tooth fillings after you bit down too hard on a spoon. Or from your Elmer’s glue covered hands that your sister’s friend had to use hot water and a knife to clean. The type of white that looked like it was carved from God’s sclera.  Not the type of white from the time your dad ran over a rabbit and tried to convince you that the car in front of you was the culprit.  Not the type of white that comes from the time you were blinded by the headlights of the car speeding towards your driver side door. Not the type that comes from eating saltine crackers for three days straight after you caught a stomach virus. Not the white from the seeds left on dandelions after you blow them that meant your wishes wouldn’t come true. Not the type that comes from actually crying over spilled milk. Not the type that comes from the time you bought a whiteboard because you thought it would help get your life together but it just ended up ripping holes in the wall. Not the white that comes from the first time you had a snowball thrown in your face and felt it would fall off if you rubbed too hard. But the type so beautiful you were disappointed when you realized you were still alive. The type of white you’ll probably never see again.

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