We're closer than you think, you and I. We've passed within grasp upon the streets, late at night when the misty clouds of warm breath momentarily hang in the air. The paths of two wandering strangers intersect then diverge, threading through the thick shadows which creep from every crack and crevice; drifting like ghosts through the dim yellow islands that float below the sparse streetlights. There comes a familiar uneasiness as our faint outlines bolden and we approach each other. The distance closes and our heartbeats quickens, rising with the nervous pace of our feet. Maybe you dig your hands deeper into your pockets, or puff out your chest slightly, a quick intake of breath... the streets are dangerous around here right. Anyone may be prowling, lurking, waiting.
Our bodies pass unflinching, for all the build up there is no crescendo. I wish just once to validate that building tension. As we drift apart upon this cobblestone dotted sea of shadows, I consider where are you walking this time of night? Is it midnight cravings, an illicit rendezvous or something so innocent as missing the last train home? I peek around to catch the last glimpse as you're enveloped by the city and my curiosity grows stronger. Perhaps for you this is a journey rather than a simple destination. If so, for what purpose do you roam? Your quiet, clean appearance may belie a host of secrets and ill intentions. As Tolkien penned, 'not all those who wander are lost'. I have no answers to any of these questions, they come unbidden with each passerby and depart unanswered.
I crave to ask of you whether you ask these same questions of me. I fight the urge to turn and yell into the empty laneways, to know what you're thinking. Are you even curious at my passing? Surely you silently query my nocturnal ambitions. I wish to scream aloud my plans, to engage the world with my bold scheme and say This Is What I'm Going to Do And This Is How I'm Going To Do It. I've learned my lesson from the supervillians of old though and dispel such self-destructive notions, drop my head and march on. My meandering route conceals a carefully chosen path, a planned approach to the venue of nefarious deeds. I pass no others while tracing my path to the base of the towering spire. Am I the only one to embrace my human frailty and venture high above the city this night?
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