At night theres a man who stands outside my window, he waits there on the corner for a ride that never comes. My lack of kitchen curtains bleeds soft light in through the bent glass and he stands out there bathed in it. I often wonder if he can see me as clearly as I see him, or if I too appear to be a specter in the shadows of some forgotten place above the streets that people hardly tread. The way he stares with intent leads me down roads of wonder and bewilderment, who would ever know the truth if either of us were to disappear, right then and there standing in the dark and looking at some other thing that had a good chance of not being entirely real. If two ghosts go on haunting silently in the shade do either of them remember what living is? I am sometimes hurt by my own ambition, I am sometimes weakened by the ignorance of those around me. It is a human trait, to relate to people, to attempt to be on their level so that the two of you can find a common ground. But here in this passing acquaintanceship there is literally no understanding yet all the reliability of a lifelong friendship. Its untrue, certainly, the familiarity must be a product of semantics and silence and surely wouldnt stand a chance otherwise. If either of us were to speak, if either were to move a hand and greet the other, surely a white light would come up over the hill and brighten him up before he climbed upon it and washed off. Theres a great owl out there too, he sits high in the tree but doesnt look at either of us, we who stare through each other. Admittedly I am nearly petrified of him, his size is immense and though his head sometimes bobs he stares only directly into the moon from his perch, but I fear that one day I will gaze up and his head will slowly turn in my direction. And if he were to look at me with those piercing eyes I feel all my blood would drain, it would fall right out of me and I would be swaying there all pale and frightened like many a field mouse and scampering shrew. What if he were to scoop me up in his claws and carry me off somewhere with those bright yellow eyes all wet with moonbeams, who would my lurking stranger stare at then? Or worse what if he were to turn his gaze on down to the corner and pick off easy prey, then I would have to peer out at the ghost of a ghost and my sanity would slowly slip away, a whisper through the window cracks. No, I like it much better this way, tracing the line of a razors edge. Im well acquainted with danger. Ive lived danger, Ive known danger. I am danger. But this, this is something much worse, much bigger than me, the dread between the two of them and three of us all locked on things we think we understand. When the sun shows up, well all dry out.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Oct 2013 10:58:28 +0000
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