In The Dark
The walk through the woods was long and fruitless.
With empty eyes and bleeding arms, I wandered, a putrid ghost among shells of trees.
The night had stretched on for decades and yet ended far too soon for my liking.
Months and months ago, it had been all too easy to find your address, all too simple to locate your window.
It was always the only one in your home with lights that shone late into the night.
Watching was easy; it was facile.
Sometimes, you left your blinds up, and light streamed into the blackened night.
You were a beacon of brightness in the dark on those days, and nothing obstructed your window from my sight.
But most times, my eyes watched you from the space between your blind’s end and the windowsill.
I didn’t mind.
Narrow vision into your home was far better than no vision at all.
But tonight, tonight was different.
I came to your house, and the lights were off, your window ajar.
Maybe you had wanted to listen to the summer night’s crickets and cicadas, let them lull you into a restless sleep.
Maybe the chill of eyes on your back had filled you with cold, and you had sought to feel the humid air on your neck as you slumbered.
The reason, however, mattered not.
Your window was ajar.
I’ve always wanted to feel your breath against my skin.
I’ve always wondered how you look when you’re in the dark.
The window slid smoothly and without sound when my fingers wrapped around it.
The gap was narrow, but it was wide enough to allow me passage inside the room I had watched for so long.
Your neck smelled vaguely of lavender and felt sweet and soft when my fingers wrapped around it.
Green eyes suddenly piercing the dark, you remained a beacon of bright even when surrounded by black.
A scream filled the night.
How bothersome.
I did not know if there were others in the house who might attempt to disturb us.
A hand over your mouth quieted the wail, and after a time even I began to question if it had ever been there at all, or if a lonely coyote had cried out to the moon.