But I'm a fairy. I'm tiny and I fly and shit and somehow I manage to slip through the cracks. And there I am, in your home, in your refuge, looking out into the dark sky and the bright stars and the brighter city lights. God everything looks so tiny from up here. I could stare out this window for hours.
Which I do really, cigarette in hand, your cat purring around my legs while you're in the kitchen making us something yummy. At least that's what I presume from the smell.
Mmmmm, the view and the smells and the warm welcome of the cat just make me feel at home.
But I'm not, am I? I'm just a visitor. I'm on a look-but-do-not-touch basis.
I'll probably be gone before dawn.
We're not talking. We're so close but in completely different universes. It's quiet up here. Even the sound from the street below is far far away. Baffled even. We're too high up. But I like it. I prefer it this way. We're untouchable. That's why it feels safe.
You break the silence saying dinner is ready. I stumble to the kitchen bar, I had one too many glasses of wine, eh? I take my seat. We eat in silence. I'm toying around with my fork and food on my plate. We don't look at each other, but it's that comfortable silence that just makes sense to you and me.
Suddenly there's a knock on the door. So quiet, so faint. But I hear it. The cat hears it. Don't you hear it? Nope you don't seem to notice, you haven't even looked up from your plate. But there it is again, a faint knock knock on the front door.
You just keep eating.
Gradually the knocks get louder. Harder. I look at you; you're still staring into your plate, eating away as if you can't hear a damn thing.
"Don't you hear the knocking?"
My voice almost startles you; as if I woke you up from a trance. And suddenly you hear the knocking, which still grows in volume and intensity. Suddenly you look alarmed. As if you're threatened by it.
The knocking turns into pounding, God it almost feels like whoever is behind that door is gonna bring it down.
Pow. Pow. Pow.
You get up, you make a small circle around the kitchen, unsure what to do and then you just sit under the sink. I stare at you, the pounding growing on that door and you sit in a little ball, knees in hands, under the kitchen sink, staring in silence.
"Aren't you gonna get that?" I ask.
But you're just staring into silence. Even my voice can't get through to you; you're shutting down again.
I'm not sure why, but I get up. I want to smack you. Get you to your feet, grab your shoulders and shake you out of it. But that noise is growing. And I can't take it. So I march to the door, grab that knob and open it violently.
The door swings open and I'm face to face..
... with myself.
I look into my eyes, I barely recognize me.
My other self walks into the house, your home, sees you under the sink. God, not again. And goes to the window and lights a cigarette.
And it finally hits me; I was never really here, was I?
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