Mine. And Mine alone. She knows. I walk alone. In a place where the sun sets early and the dawn comes late. And all that lies between is ghostly grey. And all that lies between is red as Hell. Here there exists not the blue of day nor the black of night. Here there exists neither the purity of shadow nor the spectrum of light. Here old newspapers huddle in the corners, the printing on their pages blurred. Unreadable. I walk alone. Where the banshees scream- and never stop screaming. I pass the abandoned library whose lions seem to have been carved by an uneducated man. Their sculpted forms are sloppy caricatures of the wild brethren they were meant to represent. They laugh at me. Like circus lions. Because my path is all smoke and hidden mirrors. And nothing else.
One day I'm in. One day I'm out. Everyday I'm in between. Seen through the cracks. But unreachable.
I stopped hearing your voice. I can't remember when.
You stopped listening.
