3/1/07

Like a spectre she sits there in the corner, available only to the periphery of your average mortal human’s eye.  She moves silently past you on the sidewalk and you glance at her, but there is nothing of interest, nothing to make the eye linger and the mouth turn up like a blossoming flower.

She is drab and ordinary and quiet.  She sees so much and speaks so little.  She harbors it all inside, hating what it mutates into but having no outlet.  If you speak to her she will smile, providing she has understood what the vibrations bouncing on her little used eardrums mean, you may even get a witty retort, rapier quick.  If not, she will still smile, perhaps not so brightly wondering what you meant – am I stupid for not understanding, will I hurt later for realizing what was said too late, will I convulse with the embarrassment and shame of the lost opportunity?  Perhaps that person that spoke to me meant only to be a friend?  How did I lose touch so quickly?  Why did I lose touch?  I am so socially inept that I cannot even make a conversation that does not die a painful and awkward death –  like an ugly girls hopes at a glamorous prom.  How can I save myself from the dank recess of lonliness I have fallen into?  Can I really go through life, with the only people I speak to being waiters and hostesses and service people, people paid to smile and be nice?  Have I really spent all my free cash on meals out just so that I would have a person to speak to?

She wonders, as she passes like a ghost in your periphery if she will even be seen or touched well enough, to be brought back into focus or if she will always be an observant ghost.

© 2007 Lucid Dreaming