his trident and her olive tree

I don’t think you’re not the person I’m looking for. There are things in this world that is inherently crazy-inducing, to the point where chance oriented occurrences seem less and less chance oriented and coincidences becomes more and more implausible. The scales, tipped. “Just follow the lead,” I told myself, “connect the dots.” Let me tell you a secret, all the dots are connected. And it terrifies me to a point that spins on a needle. Inflections of fear do not show on my face anymore, they dare not trespass. I once thought seeing hell was what turned my mettle to steel, but seeing the ties, ropes and all the little dots that connected that place, pulled, marionetted by the spiders adorned with crimson crowns and cackling like clowns from the private chambers -that steeled me. These lives of ours stretch and constrict on a web, and the frogs in the shadows admire the display under the glow from the lamp post above. I count 8 but I’m seldom sure. It’s quite a sight in the middle of the night especially in the winter when the air drenches the the thread with moisture invisible to the human eye. Nobody touches the web, only nobody, who, are just as invisible to your eyes. Those things that bump, creak and rustled in the dead of night, those things you believe were cold and dead… they are very much alive, in your bones, your ligaments, your sinews. they are as alive as the wind wales through the upper stories of those dead tenements. They are reverberate in your key strokes. In the tiny liquid crystals on this very screen, yes, this one. And they simply watch. For now at least.The lamp post beaming from above, crickets in the distance, a ribbit or two here and there and that hum. That monotonous humming from the light, keeping everyone on key. Keeping it all on key. And still the only thing you can think about is whether or not you and your loved ones are safe. Dear neighbor, wait till you hear about what happens when the sun goes down. My vagueness has always protected you.

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