A field of noise. I listen at the wall, awaiting deliverance, looking around for a sign of egress. How am I found again? The direction of wind, the sound of your footsteps intruding, leafing through my words. We are both trespassers and I cannot decide whose offense is more egregious. It was obsessive, my predilection. It was warranted. There is no question of intent. Then again, maybe it was all panic. The voice I heard, ethereal, a phantasm. A flurry of feeling, hands working quickly to map out the terrain. I looked up at the night sky as the heat from the burning paper swelled at my feet.
One said I love you.
One said How could you.
It is like a coin one flips to decide. As the rain closes in, I cannot fathom this scenario. All the times of dishonesty, the sun now setting in several hundred pixels.
A movement, closed.
A thousand questions standing in readiness at the back of my throat.
There were many dreams along the way, all pointing, all begging.
A stab in the dark that catches, turns the knife askew in my hand.
I know you know.
You left a trail of breadcrumbs to the door, drew shut the blinds and watched.
Mere minutes after my departure, every time.
He stands waiting in the wings, ear pressed close to hear your signal.