Everyone within earshot is wondering who's directing this here symphony. Driving down habitual impulses can be a heavy charge. I feel change, and I feel like I should change or be left in the silence. A moment before, where you could see everything luminous and clear has suddenly become a disjointed haze. Something akin to wiping the fog off a window, but the fog won't wipe off. It's on the other side of the glass, it seems. There's some type of metaphorical gun pointing it's shaky crosshairs at my forehead right now and I don't know where it's coming from. The aim is quite unsound. I don't know where to hide or even where to shoot back, or if I should do either. They don't hand out medals for bad behavior. In any case, most courageous acts occur where no one else sees or bears witness, and even the decisive act that leads to it is done somewhere in silence.
I always leave a light on in that window. I don't know why.
I hate to ask you this, but could you sit right there while I settle an old score?
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