He appeared as if I had been expecting him, lounging with his hands on his knees in my peripheral. The dark fedora, patterned probably tweed, leaned towards his nose in a fashion meant to be taken mysteriously. The balls of him, I later thought to myself, just relaxing in his crumpled business suit. He was there on our couch uninvited, and completely comfortable with the fact. A smirk he set on his shaded lips, there was surely a glint in his eye beneath that hat! He shifted in posture, barely an acknowledgement, but it swept fear through me all the same. Catching onto my eyelash, the man swept himself away, riding my blink into the dark oblivion of my subconscious.
Who was this man, and why did he come? While I did not recognize him by appearance, I have felt his presence before. This man, I realized, he has been watching me. I've felt his gaze before. Could this be the face of the one who watches from the cupboards? Has it been you in my kitchen, I am almost inspired to inquire. It is too late, he is gone.
His story, I expect, will be revealed to me later. Dreams often carry the truth of my projections. These projections, sometimes human, escape into reality until I will them away. That being stated, they usually only are able to linger for moments. However, sometimes they find physical anchorage. The projections truly become one with what already is. I grab for their shadowy edges, which dissolve in my hands like watered down birthday cake. They fade back into me, laughing all the while, but always leave a stain. I can tell where they were, even if you can't.
Even though I dread the next time I meet this man, the one who wore all brown...
I do love a good mystery.
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