Saboteur

I know him well.

He lurks in the shadows.

He hides behind the bushes.

His footsteps are silent and it is easy to believe that he is not really there.

He resides in the extra muffin in the staffroom.  His playground is in the cold wind that stops you form snowshoeing.  He sleeps in the comfort of tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

You hold his hand as it grips the blade that slides in your back.  You love him for whispering to you that it will be okay.  That it is alright.

He looks like you.  Like a younger you.  An older you.  A far off you.  A you by your own side.

A dying you.

He comforts you with wine and anesthetizes you with television.

You know he is coming.

He will knock on the door.

Like a vampire, he must be invited in, yet only needs to cross your threshold to stay indefinitely.

I know him well.

He is here.

He stopped by for a quick visit, said he cannot stay long…

that was yesterday morning…

 

 

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