Do you remember the first time we met? I was young, and we were at his house for the weekend. It wasn’t long until he was on another drunken binge – probably high, too – before he began looking for someone to take out his pent-up anger on. We were there, and it was convenient. We hid in a closet while he went on a rampage looking for us, and in an act of bravado, my companion and protector left me alone to brave the lunatic. After what felt like a lifetime, he returned, battered, yet assuring me, “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe, now.”
I didn’t see you again until many years later. It was in high school. While most of my peers were focused on acquiring their desired prom dates, you and I were locked in a nightmarish dance that no one else could see. After they had found out about my “other” life, I was left alone in my room, a handful of pills in one hand. I still don’t quite know if this was the trigger for the problems that followed.
Despite our complete lack of unison, the music we danced to never stopped. I could hear you humming the notes behind our faded steps on most days. People told me I was losing my mind, but they were wrong, or maybe even afraid. No one wants to believe you’re so close, that you could reach out any moment and change their world.
But deep down, I always knew. I always had a sense of foreboding that you were there, waiting. These days, there isn’t a day that passes where I don’t see you. I’ve turned my head, and I am utterly unable to avert my gaze. I’ve realized that those who insisted I was wrong were just looking in the wrong direction all along. They don’t know you, _______, not like I do. No matter. You’re indifferent to their ignorance anyway.
No matter how determined they are to look away from you, you’ll meet them. It’s just a matter of time. But what is time to you, anyway? That, I do not know. But if you still have the time to oblige me, I’m ready for another dance.