Welcome to Instaland
They are not lies, you understand, but carefully navigated truths... this edited life of mine on display. Curated and gauzed, trimmed and snipped. A reality made hazy and smudged at the edges. Images of buccal cheeks gnarled by nightime worry, Standing on imagined beaches, waiting for a tsunami of grief for people not yet gone, to hit. These are things that will not make it to my wall. Neither will the stones I carry in the pit of my stomach sometimes, where babies have slept in deathly slumber. The fear and shame at plans gone wrong. The words, unwritten. The things not done. The skeleton whispers (they sometimes shout). Or titles bestowed upon me, against my will and wishes. Divorced Motherless Anxious Failed Oh no, these things will not be advertised here, my friends. I shake them off with a philosophical smile, turning to ‘Aden’ or ‘Crema’ to ease my woes, and simply adjust the darkness.