Jake Friedland

Dark Skies

Bright lights but dark skies. Green grass smothered in mud. It’s raining. Tears filled with truth tumble. Hopeful they mix with the raindrops. The monotonous raindrops.

 
 

Spotted lights and dark skies. The raindrops cease. There is a puddle of pain on the floor. Wipe it up. It rushes back. A faint memory crawls to be seen, beckoning me back. I would. I wish. I want. It exists, alone, amongst the others.

Dimmed lights and dark skies. Voices fade. Cries of joy. Tender whispers. Our favorite show is on. It was our favorite. Laughter. Talk. Sleep. Repeat. Christmas sweaters. Cookies from a can. White wine on the countertop.

 
 

Dark rooms and dark skies. Puddles give way to raging rivers. Confirmation. Disbelief. A part of my heart ceases beating. Forever. Unable to beat again.
But it stays, not breaks.
Sending signals to memories.
Love.


It Comes in Stages


Denial

Darkness hovering.
It’s not what it seems.
There is
No problem
No problem
No problem
I repeat
To convince me.

 

Anger

A sea of red floods my judgment.
You don’t know me.
You’re over there
Guarding the light switch.
And I’m over here
Left in the dark.

 

Evaluation

I see my mask in the mirror.
That’s not who I am.
Is it?
I promise to change,
To be who
I really am and remove
Who I once was.

 

Transition

I flinch as my world fills with light
becoming brighter,
so full of vibrant color.
As if you,
who guards the light switch,
Have given me life.

 

Acceptance

This is who I am.
This is who I was
meant to be.
Why was I
Content with the darkness.
Why could I
not flip the switch
myself.


Jake Friedland is a first-year student in the Athletic Training and Doctor of Physical Therapy program in Sargent College at Boston University. Previously, his only publication credit was “The Wave,” published in elementary school. When he is not looking at life from a new perspective, Jake can be seen drowning in anatomy flashcards at his desk.