"He's Like That."


I am sitting, watching you write. The night is whispering these words in you ear, conducting your pen; manpulating your thoughts.

"He is tricky like that."

I wonder what you are writing about...what stories are being composed in that journal; in that mind. The night is reading over your shoulder and smiling to himself. He is liking what he sees. He knows your weaknesses. He knows your dreams. You tell him these things. We all tell him, we confide in his solemn strength.

"He is loathsome like that."

I shift to better observe this situation. You look over and smile at me. I know what you are writing about. The night knows as well, and is smirking to himself. You are writing about me. Scripting my dreams in the most vivid blue ink. The night is reading, and he knows. He knows my weaknesses. He knows my failings, and he knows my dreams.

"He is frightening like that."