I heard footfalls, quick and rhythmic moving in my direction and instinctively braced myself. When I looked up, I immediately regretted it.
I've seen it far too many times in my brief existence--two galaxies swirling about, minding their own business until they are inexplicably set on a collision course as if drawn together by some unseen, inescapable force or gravitational pull that feeds off the clashing of worlds and smashing of stars.
The streets are full of these "galaxies" set up in neat little living quarters not unlike mine, all in a line, all purposely facing the same direction to avoid such catastrophes. But some days it's hard to walk down the street and resist the urge to steal a glance at every passing window. I know staring is considered rude, but a quick peek won't hurt anybody, right?
As gravity pulls and distance shrinks, it grows and looms larger in my path, and I find it increasingly difficult to avert my gaze--his, however, is nowhere to be found. It's probably tucked away somewhere behind that expensive glass, or maybe buried in the glow in his palm, or even flirting with the space just above his shoelaces--it's hard to tell.
Oh! I've crossed the moat--now I'm at the front gate.
There it lies, beneath the typical assortment of decorations, distractions, and window dressings: the front door--the final frontier. It's amazing how much effort some people go through to hide it, and how much others put in to make it more visible--but if you pay attention long enough, you start to see the same doors on different houses. Although they come in all shapes and sizes, each one always possesses the same weakness: the little two-way tunnel of glass in the center, right at eye-level.
Yet, beneath it all, there is more. Something else lies beneath--something small and fragile perhaps. I can almost hear it rattling about in that uninhabited space masquerading as residency, like the echoes of a rock hurled down an empty well as scary sounds reverberate from walls that haven't seen the light of day for a long time.
And suddenly here I am, up the steps and on the porch, within arms reach.
Do I knock?
I lean in and carefully put one eye to the glass. At first, I see... I don't see anything. It's too dark. But as my eyes begin to adjust I begin to see shapes and forms, and then...
I jumped.
I turn tail and fly unashamedly away from the door, unable to hold my gaze any longer, retreating blindly back to the safety of doubled locks, blacked-out windows, and thick curtains. The walls around me shudder as he swooshes past my right shoulder and out of sight.
My hands won't stop shaking. All is quiet again except for the faint sounds of sharp breaths escaping my chest.
I've seen it far too many times in my brief existence--two galaxies swirling about, minding their own business until they are inexplicably set on a collision course as if drawn together by some unseen, inescapable force or gravitational pull that feeds off the clashing of worlds and smashing of stars.
The streets are full of these "galaxies" set up in neat little living quarters not unlike mine, all in a line, all purposely facing the same direction to avoid such catastrophes. But some days it's hard to walk down the street and resist the urge to steal a glance at every passing window. I know staring is considered rude, but a quick peek won't hurt anybody, right?
As gravity pulls and distance shrinks, it grows and looms larger in my path, and I find it increasingly difficult to avert my gaze--his, however, is nowhere to be found. It's probably tucked away somewhere behind that expensive glass, or maybe buried in the glow in his palm, or even flirting with the space just above his shoelaces--it's hard to tell.
Oh! I've crossed the moat--now I'm at the front gate.
There it lies, beneath the typical assortment of decorations, distractions, and window dressings: the front door--the final frontier. It's amazing how much effort some people go through to hide it, and how much others put in to make it more visible--but if you pay attention long enough, you start to see the same doors on different houses. Although they come in all shapes and sizes, each one always possesses the same weakness: the little two-way tunnel of glass in the center, right at eye-level.
Yet, beneath it all, there is more. Something else lies beneath--something small and fragile perhaps. I can almost hear it rattling about in that uninhabited space masquerading as residency, like the echoes of a rock hurled down an empty well as scary sounds reverberate from walls that haven't seen the light of day for a long time.
And suddenly here I am, up the steps and on the porch, within arms reach.
Do I knock?
I lean in and carefully put one eye to the glass. At first, I see... I don't see anything. It's too dark. But as my eyes begin to adjust I begin to see shapes and forms, and then...
I jumped.
I turn tail and fly unashamedly away from the door, unable to hold my gaze any longer, retreating blindly back to the safety of doubled locks, blacked-out windows, and thick curtains. The walls around me shudder as he swooshes past my right shoulder and out of sight.
My hands won't stop shaking. All is quiet again except for the faint sounds of sharp breaths escaping my chest.
~
I looked up again. Mistake.
I see it coming from a long way off, just a single cloud on the horizon. But I know better.
And this time, she sees me too.
The space between us begins to do that terrible thing again--shrinking. But the cloud is multiplying and growing and moving towards me now in an almost gliding, sort of floating fashion. I blinked really hard; maybe the stale air in here is affecting my vision.
I pressed my face against the glass, trying to look through the smudges for a better look. Yup, it's still coming, racing towards me and gaining speed like a tidal wave as I look on helplessly from my little shack stranded on this deserted island with nowhere to go, no way of escape. It's overwhelming my defenses, climbing the seawall. I can't fight gravity; I can't slow these winds.
We're gonna crash.
Everything in me screams to bar the windows and lock the doors, but I can't move. It's like that cliche, slow-motion moment that lasts forever yet no time at all where I'm standing there waiting for impact against my better judgment. And on it comes, this rolling thunder, this explosion of motion and light.
Light.
My eyes start to water from the sheer brilliance of this anomaly descending into my front yard; light and color pours in from the windows and seeps in through cracks in the door. Afraid to look and too terrified to pull my eyes away, I see her. She's here. The house begins to quake as she makes her way up the steps.
Oh no, you can't come in.
I finally convinced my stupid feet to move, backing away from the door as light gathers at the edge of the doorframe. I hear a commotion at my back--the trembling of the house has rattled loose everything I shoved into the back closet, and now they're awake and moving, falling and crashing to the floor. The windows clatter loudly as the locks clink and jingle in their bolts.
Beams of light begin to crawl about the room, investigating every corner--but not like the overpowering spotlights of a guard tower. These were small and gentle, fireflies searching, looking. For what? For who?
You can't come in. Not here.
This place is an unforgivable mess but if she comes in--no, she can't; she will destroy everything. She will be a tornado in the parlor, crushing my little arrangement, breaking furniture, and smashing it all to bits.
You will rearrange me. All without a word. With just a look--a glance.
I shrank into a corner and hugged my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible. For a guy who strives to be invisible, I am painfully visible. I sat there waiting for the front door to swing off its hinges, for my house to be destroyed, for the waves of this storm to wash over me and drown me in something so terribly wonderful.
Now she sees. Now she sees me.
I looked up and caught her gaze, strong yet gentle, soft but bright. The corner of her mouth curls ever so slightly, and for the first time in a long time I feel...
The lights begin to retreat from the windows and then disappears altogether as she brushes past my left shoulder. The house descends into a thick darkness once more, empty and bare. I sit on the floor alone in the dark, ears ringing, eyes full of light. How long I sat like this, I don't know.
I heard footsteps. I looked up. And then I got up and unlocked the door.
I finally convinced my stupid feet to move, backing away from the door as light gathers at the edge of the doorframe. I hear a commotion at my back--the trembling of the house has rattled loose everything I shoved into the back closet, and now they're awake and moving, falling and crashing to the floor. The windows clatter loudly as the locks clink and jingle in their bolts.
Beams of light begin to crawl about the room, investigating every corner--but not like the overpowering spotlights of a guard tower. These were small and gentle, fireflies searching, looking. For what? For who?
You can't come in. Not here.
This place is an unforgivable mess but if she comes in--no, she can't; she will destroy everything. She will be a tornado in the parlor, crushing my little arrangement, breaking furniture, and smashing it all to bits.
You will rearrange me. All without a word. With just a look--a glance.
I shrank into a corner and hugged my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible. For a guy who strives to be invisible, I am painfully visible. I sat there waiting for the front door to swing off its hinges, for my house to be destroyed, for the waves of this storm to wash over me and drown me in something so terribly wonderful.
Now she sees. Now she sees me.
I looked up and caught her gaze, strong yet gentle, soft but bright. The corner of her mouth curls ever so slightly, and for the first time in a long time I feel...
The lights begin to retreat from the windows and then disappears altogether as she brushes past my left shoulder. The house descends into a thick darkness once more, empty and bare. I sit on the floor alone in the dark, ears ringing, eyes full of light. How long I sat like this, I don't know.
I heard footsteps. I looked up. And then I got up and unlocked the door.
"Those eyes of yours could swallow stars
galaxies and universes
what hope did I ever have?"
Heavily inspired by
"Opia"
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
by John Koenig
Heavily inspired by
"Opia"
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
by John Koenig
