The night has become too loud again.
Shadows of familiar faces are brushing the walls and they look too close to your own. They wait until the time is right to slide in next to you. They know eventually the body will tire, flagging surrender. Quickly they sew past dreams into present slumber.
They will begin with the beautiful kind, ones that resemble the closest you know of God's gifts. Their favorite background seems to where home was last felt behind.
The dirt moves beneath your bare feet and all is right again. You are where He gathered the matter that makes up your bones. The wind is warm and your breathing at peace, all that surrounds you is love. A birthright love.
You sense company and it is those you crave. Every one of them believes you are here and for good reason.
They congratulate and kiss you. But why?
Asking would be ridiculous. They look to you as if you should know the reason very well. So accept it; basque. You walk through and thank them, return the light in their eyes. The line of them becomes scarce and you can see an end. It's coming whether you move forward or not.
Fear floods the veins and you look to see that your loved ones have vanished. So you run. The cold stings making your body unable to cooperate with your mind. That's when they show. The doubtful, the slick: the thieves of night.
They hold up their medals proudly. Trophies of innocence and hope surround you. The hands that grasp them are of the few that were able to make you feel disposable at some point in life. The makers of your fears. Your guard is down and that's how they prefer it.
They are coming for you.
You wrestle the courage to stagger a few steps. They gather to yell and the words hit like blades on skin. Each cut releases strength and you surprise yourself by continuing. You struggle as the worry sets in for how long you can take it. The closer you get, the more your sure to bleed.
Most nights the dark surrounds too tightly and their voices mute your own. Jolted, your eyes face the ceiling. For now it's over. The breaths are quick and tears swell as you pray for comfort. Guilt begins to set in for letting them win another one for the shelf. You lay there plotting for revenge but find no peace in it.
The only escape is to remember the few nights where you took the victory. The night you pushed through and shielded their mouths and knives.
Their strength soon became your own as your feet pounded into the ground. The sprint became so vigorous that your feet could no longer touch the ground. You looked to see that it was not because you had fallen, you simply took flight.