When seeing is not believing

I was healing by the green tea
When the dirty fingers came again
this time manicured, with red nailpolish.
Devoid of words, but strong smell of dried acetone.
They diagnosed me with a voluntary blindness
just because I wear my sunglasses at night.
I told them gravity picks you up when you fall
and time heals by destroying your memory.
When you talk you speak for me
and I speak for you when I talk.
I insisted on fiction being fact because dreams come true
They said come back when you're not blind kid.
Seeing is not believing you see?
[Fingers never see, they always point.]