Day 88

I was prompted to write about lids. So here goes:
Lids are overrated. Really a lid is just an indecisive wall, with a better view, sitting on top to cover up the mold growing on the leftovers.
Every wall in a container is simply a lid that's made up its mind. No moving. No change.
I've little time for lids ... save for eyelids.
Eyelids really are a remarkable thing. Gateway guardians, entrusted with the task of  protecting those sweet doorways to the soul.
And that's just on the outside, keeping out offensive bits floating in the air.
On the inside, even more is going on.
How often does one stare at the projector screens for our dreams?
I close my eyes and see such sights. Every night, in fact. Whole civilizations rise and fall in the blink of an eye, all be it a long blink.
Sidebar: why did the adorable uncle/grandfather archetypes of my youth's popular culture measure sleep in winks? Surely they should have meant blinks. I don't wink in my sleep, not even in spy dreams when I'm required to be crafty ...
Lids also come as words.
Words which serve as a cork to a geyser, holding back torrential forces that need see some kind of release.
"I'm fine," is one such lid.
"I don't mind," is another.
"Sure, you can go." "I understand." "It's alright." "I'll be fine on my own."
Let the truth out. Not later when your own personal Pompeii leaves a landscape of ash and ruin, now.
It doesn't need to come out in the form of vitriol. You don't have to scald the skin of bystanders.
Just lift the lid a little bit. Steam up the glass while you look in the mirror, then make shapes in the fog.
Do this and catastrophe may be averted.
But what do I know.
I'm just a guy that hates lids.