(no subject)
barefoot, I step outside.
half an hour earlier, maybe less,
I was chased back indoors; chased, or maybe followed,
leaving behind empty chairs and a far-off rumble of thunder.
but now it's darkening.
quiet, apart from the rain puddling in the bird bath,
and the slow soft shuffle of his feet
just on the other side of the wall
alone and not alone. alone with someone else,
for once unafraid to be myself in front of other eyes,
and knowing I can be seen through the clarity of the glass,
I tuck my feet beneath me, put my head back, open my hands to the twilight.
for once unafraid: it's a lie we tell ourselves,
that this is different. that this is unprecedented. that this is novel.
that we are writing in a new language, rain-streaked, cracked the book,
broken-spined and stepping ever forward,
but the truth:
is that our story is a fable
a legend used to warn
and everyone can see how we end except we ourselves,
because we are only listening to the rain
and letting the world grow dark around us.
barefoot, I step inside.
half an hour earlier, maybe less,
I was chased back indoors; chased, or maybe followed,
leaving behind empty chairs and a far-off rumble of thunder.
but now it's darkening.
quiet, apart from the rain puddling in the bird bath,
and the slow soft shuffle of his feet
just on the other side of the wall
alone and not alone. alone with someone else,
for once unafraid to be myself in front of other eyes,
and knowing I can be seen through the clarity of the glass,
I tuck my feet beneath me, put my head back, open my hands to the twilight.
for once unafraid: it's a lie we tell ourselves,
that this is different. that this is unprecedented. that this is novel.
that we are writing in a new language, rain-streaked, cracked the book,
broken-spined and stepping ever forward,
but the truth:
is that our story is a fable
a legend used to warn
and everyone can see how we end except we ourselves,
because we are only listening to the rain
and letting the world grow dark around us.
barefoot, I step inside.