* Sort of a complementary piece to the previous, 'Meander,' as my metaphor took off in two different directions.
Sometimes, I’m the cold grey fog that slides in from beneath the door, blanketing the floor like billowing sheets, never rising above your knee.
Sometimes, I’m the almost-buzz in one ear, that makes you wonder, “Is somebody there?”
I ooze with impeccable invisibility. Queen of the benthic zone, only leeches know me by name.
And I don’t mind, residing in the thick soup of the unknown.
I don’t mind, not being like you.
And I don’t mind, when it rips my heart in two.