I must seek out the shadows.
I stepped out of the passenger's side of the taxi. It was assumed this ride was free; no tip even. The sidewalk was wet. It had just stopped raining. Cold and dark, with the heaviness in the air that the rain would return soon.
We never touched, we never embraced, we never even looked at each other. We were to meet at that corner and I assumed he was there next to me as I walked. We were to have sex; we wanted to enjoy it, but that would be too much. There was a longing, ignored. The act itself was enough of a defiance, so what more could we expect? How much more should we expect to expect? It was something that was done, not something people did.
We walked, the streetlamps the only guide. But there were shadows. Alleyways and entire side streets stretched off into the distance unlighted. And there they hid. I couldn't see them it was so dark, but they were there, watching, judging, damning. No clue why, no mercy, not a word spoken, but understood nonetheless. It was a damnation that only the damned could give. Forever in shadow, theirs was a true dispair. Invisible implication, invisible implication-- until you realized that they were in the dark because the light from the streetlamps was reflected away from them, not that it didn't reach them. And that was the true fear: the possibility of seeing your own image, for that would place you there, at that time, at that location. Who are these people in the dark? One night, I will have to venture down these alleys and side streets. There is no day.
I then longed for a hand to hold.