It’s funny, how I miss something I’ve never known. Similar to the way people mourn unrequited love. Nothing is between the two people, a one sided tragedy of sorts, yet the thought of what could be creates the feeling of sorrow. Instead, For many years, I lay trapped inside my mind wondering why I’d been cursed of my sight. I’ve heard the sky is blue and the grass is green. I’ve heard of oceans swirling with dark rage and settle with lovely hues of blue and green. People have described the leaves of trees to be vibrant green until Autumn comes, then they turn vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds. How beautiful it must be. In the dark I experience these things differently. It took me a long time to accept the beauty of the world for how I experience it. When I step outside I feel the light breeze or strong wind as it swirls around me. I breathe in the fresh air that differs with every season. I sense a storm in the way the air smells of rain. As I listen to the howling winds and angry thunder I wonder what has the sky angry today. I cannot witness the grand flashes of lightning but I know they’re there. Swimming was scary as a child. The thought of my mother letting go and leaving me to sink into the seemingly bottomless abyss constantly on my mind. Now I feel how the water flows around me, hugs me, guides me in it’s cool arms. The weightlessness of its embrace and the way droplets of water drip down my face, getting caught on my eyelashes. When I’m alone I listen closely to the silence. To the rustling of the leaves and singing of the birds, to the creak of my house and the tick of a clock. I let myself focus on the feeling of the cushioned chair I sit in every morning while sipping tea. The steam wafts onto my face each time I lift the cup, warm and comforting. Walking down the streets can sometimes be overwhelming, people bumping into me and too many noises to easily process. With the help of my dog, Macey, it’s easier. She leads me through crowds and tells me when it’s safe to cross the road. When we get home I pet her fluffy head in thanks for the day. I’m no porcelain doll, even if some everyday things are more difficult for me. Living alone isn’t an impossibility. Once I’m familiar with my living space I become used to the placement of things. I grow a routine. As a teenager I used to fret over how I looked, hearing the other kids my age discussing new trends and makeup. Perhaps I’ve been blessed with the inability to see my appearance. After coming to terms with the fact that I’ll never see my face I focused more on the clothes I wore and how they felt. I embraced being sightless.