The Messenger

I watch and wait.  Just as staring at a picture of a long awaited excursion gives it’s traveler hope, this image offers me a sense of peace and comfort.  Do not see my patient lingering as a sign of weakness or worse, lunacy.  It is simply a reminder of dreams and wishes that are normally lost at the first light of dawn.  Without even a word, that image transports me back to the deep valleys of my mind where hungry monsters sleep with ears standing tall, awaiting a cue to attack.  That presence offers a path to escape, to explore, and to feed.  It silently calls them to their feet and urges them to run instead of continuing to fade into nonexistence.  Without it, they sink into the quiet darkness, muffled by the distraction of the great beyond.  So I wait, all the while beginning to doubt my own sanity as I become the prisoner of a list that holds the only connection I have to my most intimate demons.