He stood, the bright full moon his sun in the night. "Shall we leave, m'lady?" He got up and started walking down a beaten path, made used only by he, his shadow, and his company. The moon shone so bright this night that the stars had faded in its light. They were there, but they were not, a type of presence you can only say, and not see; a feat to be believed, and not seen. He travelled down the path someways, his shadow faithfully following, always there, never away, and his companion remained at his side. "Ah," he sighed, looking over at his friend, who was not there, "it is nights like these that make me feel alive - to be alone, a feeling of inexorable loneliness I can not describe, but I find not happiness, nor sorrow, but a sense of pease, with not the world, nor you, but myself. It is as everything hurts no more, as if I will never feel any hurt, nor felt any hurt at all; a type of innocence one can not feign, nor acknowledge, but portrays." The moon began to disappear behind the moutains, its partner rising as it fell, a type of twin, never knowning, but always there. The bright star burst its orange rays over the mountain tops and onto the trees, breaking through any barrier it found, and left him with his shadow still, and a companion he did not know. The rays of light streamed through the leaves, through the air, leaving patterns of dance as the leaves fell to the earth in their final descent, a finality they knew, but could not say. He stood looking at the rising sun until he could look no more, blinded by its light, and turned again towards the path which he knew so well.
He began to walk in daylight, in a shadow, with a friend.
23 December 2004
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