The Price Of Safety

Jonathan Foer once said, "You cannot protect yourself from sadness without protecting yourself from happiness." But I smiled at the page and closed the book. What did he know about the wolves at my door? What did he know about the burns on my skin? So I went to work. For years, I laid the mortar and stacked the bricks. I built a fortress so high the sun couldn't reach me. I told myself I was safe, secure, untouchable. "I don't need the light," I whispered to the dark, "I only need to stop bleeding." I denied the cold creeping into my bones. I told myself the silence was peace, not starvation. But today, a yellow butterfly landed on the gray stone. I reached out to feel its warmth, but my fingers were too numb to register the touch. A laugh echoed from the valley below, but it died against my barricade before it could reach my chest. I sit alone in my perfect, unshakeable tomb. No one can hurt me now. No one can love me either. I guess Jonathan Foer was right.