It's these nights that I fear, the ones where he's wandering lost in his oblivion, walking past the musk scented trees that hold no smell to him, that the black roots next to his feet tremble from his emotion that claws at the air around him, trying to escape into the cold night that blackens his thoughts and he's lost in the cement that his feet pound on. But he can't feel those things the same way I do. He can't see how his red rage is a thick clouded layer around him that can't be seen by human eyes but by the eyes of the soul within me. He doesn't notice how his jaw tenses and his fists clench when a sound penetrates that layer and his eyes glaze over and he sweeps his eyes looking for the threat he feels caused this. He doesn't notice in his blankless mind that that face changes him, that he no longer becomes the friend I know him to be but a dark beast that loses clarity and instead becomes warped in the thunderstorm inside of him. He doesn't know how much it scares me to feel fear from him.
So it's those nights when the moon hangs low and casts shadows across his tall frame that he looks like a deadly figure ready to beat his way to freedom that I wish I was something more than human. That I could reach past his physical being into the cage within him that he's locked behind so much of himself, that I wish I could grab hold of the swirling mists of torture that was bestowed upon him and steal it within me. I would welcome the mass of torment if it meant he could be set free from the trials he's being faced with. To vanquish his pain in a heartbeat, that's all he needs to feel released from these chains he's been bounded in.
So when he walks these lampless streets alone, when he beats his fists against hooded enemies and sheds tears of helplessness, I pity him. I wish more than anything that I could let go of the despondency for him, so as to shield him from the task himself. I wish I could protect him from the monsters that trouble him, to brush them aside like dust in the wind, and to lead him on the path where petals bloom on the trails he walks and the where clouds part to mark paths of sun rays that guide him to bright futures that await him.
If he only knew how his real laugh brightens his spirit, how his devotion sets down his tracks and how his eyes gleam on top of real smiles only enhances who he truly is. If he only knew that I wake up laughing to tell him good morning and that until we meet eyes and smile at our secret insiders, my mornings have been gray clouds ready to smother me beneath them. That even she who is closest to me sometimes seems like a stranger to my vague struggles, I hardly talk about them, they bring tears that rip open the vault I've kept hidden, so I suffocate them until they're gone. Sometimes it's as if he understands me more than she does, but I could never admit it.
I'm afraid to admit I would never risk losing him, that he's stepped too close to the edge of my sanity that he's already overcome them, that he can still stand next to me while knowing the truth of my predicament. I'm afraid that he's come so close to my history, that there's no turning back, not once he knows, there's no turning backward and stepping out of my mentality, he'll know, soon.
And yet, does he have any idea, that he means so much to me?