Tossing and turning between the folds of blankets, softness of white sheets, surrounding soft pillows. The light between the curtain reminds me that time is irrelevant. A yellow street lamp masks the hour, like the folds of cotton as I walk the empty halls in the day. I see a twitch of fabric move as I realize I've been staring at a stranger's eyes trying to recognize life behind the curtain. The reflection of wide eyes and eyebrows leaves me puzzled as to what I do without the costume. When there's daylight. Clarity. Is it darkness or dawn?
I climb. It's a club. I am here because I am going home. I live in the depths. I zone out and walk through halls, open doors, the mood is different, it changes with new rooms. I keep going. Deeper and deeper still. This room is dim, there's blue, red, and purple lights dancing on the walls, shadows from the twenty or so people dance on the ceiling. I remark to myself that it is a nearly empty room. I hear the shuffling of feet but everyone is silent, otherwise. They are wearing headphones and I think that is a wonderful way to celebrate being alive as well as stay safe during these times. Wear headphones so you don't keep me up at night. I come to a door behind the shadows and I unlock it. I'm in a brightly lit hallway. I glance and see it is empty. It's quiet. The light is humming a slightly yellow hue. There's some insulation sticking out of a wall that hasn't been finished yet. It smells like new plywood and fresh white paint. I turn the knob to my apartment and it opens. I am confused about how easily I had just pushed it open. The shiny gold handle bounces back with a soft metal spring. I cautiously enter my kitchen. There's plants hanging in front of the black window of the night. I don't recall leaving my light on in the kitchen either. I always close curtains, but it feels like they should be open right now. I feel exposed to the outside world. Perhaps it will save me, now. I walk to the living room. The couch is dark, the kitchen light brightens only one corner, where an old victorian chair sits with two people in it. There's a woman I don't recognize. She has strawberry blonde hair. About shoulder length and wavy. She is sitting in a lap of a much taller man. Both are fairly thin. Her hand is over the top of his, fingers in between, slightly curled. I look into his face. It's you. Of course it is. You are always here. It doesn't matter how far deep I go. You are always here, waiting. I look right into your face and I say your name out loud. You breathe in deeply and sit your head upright, as if you sprang to life, the ghost who was waiting to be set free. You apologize. You had nowhere else to go. I listen to you as she gets up. As you follow. You both move together. She giggles at you and you act as if you don't see her, but your slender fingers remain entwined in hers. I move to my closet past you. I start to put clothes away. I move hangers down and my sister comes up from behind me, showing me where I should move. Directing me to organize better. I wonder if your shadow is the same. If she is real or perceived. That you carry her around everywhere because she is so much a part of you that you cannot stand to consider her a separate entity. I am jealous. I want to be your shadow. I listen to you and I nod. I smile weakly and admit, my door is always open for you. I glance at your shadow, making it obvious that she isn't always welcome. You smile so sweetly. I forget how nice you are and how harsh I can be. How cold it must feel to see the porcelain face I show you. I feel bad instantly and I turn my head away for being childish. You make a small laugh because you always understand that me pulling away saves myself from a darker red face, one you admittedly find sincere.
You begin making breakfast but mostly she does the work. You surround her, allowing her strength to shine through. I wonder how you are able to simultaneously hug her from behind like a turtle shell and hold her hands on the outside, curled slightly. Your arms move quickly with hers as she cooks. And yet, you also cling to her, smiling thoroughly and completely smitten with her love. Her face is serious but jovial. She is making rows and rows of burnt bacon. I wonder why you have brought bacon into my apartment. I don't want dead things here. I see that after the fifth row of burnt bacon, it begins to look normally cooked piece by piece. The last row isn't burnt at all. Your shadow with her light yellow hair and freckles laughs at me catching the improvement. She is charming and I begin to feel bad that I actually adore her. She seems really sweet. Something isn't right with you and I know it. You haven't taken your eyes off of me. You follow my gaze around the room as I wonder why you are here. Do you need me? Or is it that you found out that I need you?
The curtain moves gently and the yellow light hides the dawn. I look at the time, feeling suddenly so alive. I felt like I hadn't slept for days and I finally found the deep sleep I so desperately needed. I move like the wind, changing directions and intensity at random. One minute, time is passing like the river, flowing intensely fast, I lose minutes like they are pennies. The next minutes move with me, allowing me space to finish my tasks at my body's pace. I suck in air and set alarms that I never hear on my silent phone.
I climb. It's a club. I am here because I am going home. I live in the depths. I zone out and walk through halls, open doors, the mood is different, it changes with new rooms. I keep going. Deeper and deeper still. This room is dim, there's blue, red, and purple lights dancing on the walls, shadows from the twenty or so people dance on the ceiling. I remark to myself that it is a nearly empty room. I hear the shuffling of feet but everyone is silent, otherwise. They are wearing headphones and I think that is a wonderful way to celebrate being alive as well as stay safe during these times. Wear headphones so you don't keep me up at night. I come to a door behind the shadows and I unlock it. I'm in a brightly lit hallway. I glance and see it is empty. It's quiet. The light is humming a slightly yellow hue. There's some insulation sticking out of a wall that hasn't been finished yet. It smells like new plywood and fresh white paint. I turn the knob to my apartment and it opens. I am confused about how easily I had just pushed it open. The shiny gold handle bounces back with a soft metal spring. I cautiously enter my kitchen. There's plants hanging in front of the black window of the night. I don't recall leaving my light on in the kitchen either. I always close curtains, but it feels like they should be open right now. I feel exposed to the outside world. Perhaps it will save me, now. I walk to the living room. The couch is dark, the kitchen light brightens only one corner, where an old victorian chair sits with two people in it. There's a woman I don't recognize. She has strawberry blonde hair. About shoulder length and wavy. She is sitting in a lap of a much taller man. Both are fairly thin. Her hand is over the top of his, fingers in between, slightly curled. I look into his face. It's you. Of course it is. You are always here. It doesn't matter how far deep I go. You are always here, waiting. I look right into your face and I say your name out loud. You breathe in deeply and sit your head upright, as if you sprang to life, the ghost who was waiting to be set free. You apologize. You had nowhere else to go. I listen to you as she gets up. As you follow. You both move together. She giggles at you and you act as if you don't see her, but your slender fingers remain entwined in hers. I move to my closet past you. I start to put clothes away. I move hangers down and my sister comes up from behind me, showing me where I should move. Directing me to organize better. I wonder if your shadow is the same. If she is real or perceived. That you carry her around everywhere because she is so much a part of you that you cannot stand to consider her a separate entity. I am jealous. I want to be your shadow. I listen to you and I nod. I smile weakly and admit, my door is always open for you. I glance at your shadow, making it obvious that she isn't always welcome. You smile so sweetly. I forget how nice you are and how harsh I can be. How cold it must feel to see the porcelain face I show you. I feel bad instantly and I turn my head away for being childish. You make a small laugh because you always understand that me pulling away saves myself from a darker red face, one you admittedly find sincere.
You begin making breakfast but mostly she does the work. You surround her, allowing her strength to shine through. I wonder how you are able to simultaneously hug her from behind like a turtle shell and hold her hands on the outside, curled slightly. Your arms move quickly with hers as she cooks. And yet, you also cling to her, smiling thoroughly and completely smitten with her love. Her face is serious but jovial. She is making rows and rows of burnt bacon. I wonder why you have brought bacon into my apartment. I don't want dead things here. I see that after the fifth row of burnt bacon, it begins to look normally cooked piece by piece. The last row isn't burnt at all. Your shadow with her light yellow hair and freckles laughs at me catching the improvement. She is charming and I begin to feel bad that I actually adore her. She seems really sweet. Something isn't right with you and I know it. You haven't taken your eyes off of me. You follow my gaze around the room as I wonder why you are here. Do you need me? Or is it that you found out that I need you?
The curtain moves gently and the yellow light hides the dawn. I look at the time, feeling suddenly so alive. I felt like I hadn't slept for days and I finally found the deep sleep I so desperately needed. I move like the wind, changing directions and intensity at random. One minute, time is passing like the river, flowing intensely fast, I lose minutes like they are pennies. The next minutes move with me, allowing me space to finish my tasks at my body's pace. I suck in air and set alarms that I never hear on my silent phone.
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