The Comfort Of Film Behind Glass

There is so little solace found in the cold embrace of glass against the cheek of a weeping girl, protecting the only photograph she has of her now late mother. It glistens and catches her tears on its slick surface. It hears her secrets and confessions and guilt from not telling her mother to be safe the day she died.

She was like sunshine on a beautiful summer day, but even the sun hid behind the clouds sometimes.

She tells no one of the burden that weighs her heart down like a ton of brick. But she carries on, singing - albeit, off-key - laughing, spreading her trademark optimism, and being the sunshine on a dreary day among the Sohmas.

No one is there for her when she closes the door to her room, flicks off the light switch, and curls up beneath her blanket at night. No one is there when the night light comes on, though that small shred of luminosity can't hold a candle to her grief and pain.

She suffers alone while children play tag outside her bedroom window; while the cat and rat argue and duke it out downstairs, followed by the cry of a lazy novelist whom mourns for his house and the damage it receives.

But, its simply because she is considerate like that.

She can't imagine pouring out her sorrows before Yuki, busy as he is as President of The Student Council, and coping with his asthma day to day. He already is living a nightmare of his own by the name of Akito. He has no time to hear her little sob stories about how she misses her mother and the father she never really knew.

She cannot fathom complaining to anyone, especially not her Kyo-kun whom beats up anything that dares stand in her way or harm her. Its unfortunate that he cannot challenge and hold his own against death, if it meant seeing her smile in that genuinely bright way that made his days bearable as the cat.

She wouldn't bother Shigure, the same man that was too lazy to fulfill the tasks he is paid for, let alone personal favors. He is far too consumed with playing tricks on his editor and scheming with Yuki's nightmare to even give her the time of day.

So instead, whenever the sun falls and makes room for the moon to shine in all of its crowning glory, she snuggles up in bed with the picture of her mother cradled in her arms. Agony that tears her heart to shreds, makes her jaw ache, and sets tension into her back like sharp stone is her only company as the lunar bulb hangs high in the sky.

The coolness of glass, concealing her mother's photograph rests against her rosy pink cheeks as they share in beads of salt that roll down her face of porcelain, weathering away her cheerful expression until it is no more than a somber grimace.

But by the time the night ends and a new day begins, she is able to smile again.

Not because of her job.

Not because of her home or hot meals.

Not even because she's made new friends during the time she's spent right here at Shigure's.

But because she has this memoir of her mother. Because she has the familiarity of film behind glass that she wouldn't ever risk touching, for fear of ruining such a painful masterpiece. But it is the same glass that bottles and catches and remembers her midnight devastation.

Who knew something so cold could make her feel so warm?