The stranger has appeared once again. Have you ever been walking from one room to another and seen a shadow of someone out of the corner of your eye, only to look back and see nobody there? Well, that's the stranger alright. No matter how hard you try to shake that eerie sensation, it's still there, lingering just beyond the distance. There is something so important about knowing that he's there, even when he isn't. I could try to explain what this means, but it just can't be said with words. It's a feeling, and a smell, and a specific chill that creeps its way from the tip of my toes to the hairs on my head, leaving goosebumps behind like a trail of breadcrumbs. I mean, how can anyone explain that exactly? It just can't be done.
It's dark so early now. At this point I never even bother to draw the curtains open as I've become accustomed to the darkness, and I like it. I find comfort in it. It's as though I'm a spy, peering out at the goings on of the world, yet nobody can ever peer back at me. In fact, tonight has mystery written all over it. It's the first evening that really feels like fall. I don't know how it happens, but a switch has been flipped, and even the air smells different now. The street lamps have a foggy glow about them from the day's early rain. Even the grass is still moist, and the crickets outside my window are deafening. It's time now.
I close my eyes, just for a brief moment, and then the stranger appears again. I can feel the whites of his eyes piercing through me. The shivers are there again. Butterflies are turning cartwheels in my guts. My posture has straightened and my lips are pursed. My brow is no longer furrowed and I'm smiling at everything. My voice is lilted and soft. He cannot hide from me this time, in spite of his best efforts. His presence is no delusion.... he knows it, and I know it. This change in the air outside brings him ever closer to me. The mystery of the shadowy man.
The next time he casts his silhouette upon my bedroom wall, I shall trace the shape of him there. His masculine features somehow not ever seeming out of place against my pink, floral wallpaper. I want to peel away that place where he was, leaving concrete evidence that he was there. You would plainly see the curve of his ample nose, and the sweet curl of his kind fingers, then you could never question it again. The stranger is real, I assure you.
I shall take that piece of him, encapsulated on the rosy paper, and fold it a million times over itself till it was just big enough to tuck into my shoe. I want him to go where I go. I want him to feel the earth under my feet in the same way that I do. To experience these things with me. Nobody needs to know he's there, in my shoe, besides me. He is a stranger after all, and a stranger he shall remain. It's easier now anyways, to keep this mystery alive. The fog has risen and autumn has come. Soon everyone's secrets will be buried amongst the crimson leaves, and enshrouded within the silvery mist- my own most assuredly included.... The stranger is here again.... shhhh....
