And I saw it again, while it sneaked behind you
with a kind of nervous trepidation as if it were afraid to offend those around
it. Those stubbed hollows of eyes like it had seen too much in a time too less;
weary composure on a pale cracked skin; haggled and shabby, dreary from living
a life with no purpose or end.
I caught it's undefined contours moving in stealth while
it's cloak of disturbing shades of black exposed it's thread bare loose ends.
They dragged in a lazy conversation with the grim around it. Boneless and
frail, it's fingers looked as if they were ripped precariously by a dagger in
frantic haste. With a lingering aura of sepulcher, it smelled of
death.
It introduced itself in a murky baritone with a reference
from it's second cousin, Hope; the comforting juggernaut of a lady I had run
into last night. Dressed in a floral dress of primary hues, she had sung me a
lullaby and tucked me into the warm blanket of illusions while the snow glazed
winter of Reality froze outside my window. I had felt like an abandoned child
who had found the affection of her long lost mother.
She had sent her condolences through the harbinger. It was a
tattered note of anemic yellow with beautiful cursives dancing in tandem with
each other. If only the message was that flattering, I wished. The ink was
smeared from the sweat of humility of the dark man. I could but only leave the
message to my imagination. But the last few words clearly read that she shall
visit me again.
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