She wanders away alone, waiting for no one to follow, hoping that someone will. No one ever does, though. She's gotten used to it. Not the pied piper type.
That type and entourage are still inside, over there, and she walks until she is at a safe distance from which to watch. Their progress is slow, she has learned, because everyone wants to grab even a piece of the piper's attention. Hangers-on like her, they come and go quickly as they please.
From where she stands, they are dark figures against the bright window, a mass of moving shapes that swells and diminishes at random, indistinguishable as individuals. She rubs her arms in the chilly night and glances up at the sky. One star winks through the orange-black cloud cover. It's alone, too, she thinks.
As she looks back at the door, one shadow breaks away from the others and lingers next to the glass. She squints, and then snorts out a laugh. It's him.
The pack of bodies hasn't gotten any farther, but the single separate form waits by the door. And waits. He opens it for passers-through, and he waits a bit longer. No one has followed him, either. No one ever does. He's not the pied piper type.
He probably doesn't get it, but she does. And she gets him. Not that it matters.
She's still in the dark, and it's time for her to leave. She walks to her car, sparing the stars another momentary glance.
Now, there are two.
Oh, my goodness, this is so many shades of beautiful, I cannot even figure out how to comment on it. I love it, and I love you, and I love being able to picture this.
ReplyDeleteYou are absolutely right, you know.
This makes me wish things. I don't know how to articulate them. I guess it's like the longing that I feel in this. Sort of like lonely without ever saying "lonely."