What is not there

By
What is not there
I am the snake
I am the mouse
I am the worm
I am the tuber
I am the slate
I am the dew
under the rock
And my success,
Does not require your eyes.

My growth continued unimpeded by anyone but myself. The climb was simple, horizontal and obstacles were met with enthusiasm that only bolstered my own young narcissism. I grew fond and modeled my achievements and measured them in metallic figurines. A being was close by, a phantom; he hovered near at all times, and with me shared a residency. He was one step above me yet two steps behind and it was in this way that he needed to look down as he climbed, to watch me. However, I would need to turn and halt my own progress to look back and acknowledge this being, and so I didn’t. I continued unabashedly, rarely did it occur to me that I was watched tenderly. I was unsure of what it was, so I continued. One day, many years later, I could not see a possibility for any continuance on my plane, so I turned and looked up, and from the tallest of summits, the pure apex of being, I saw for the first time, this phantom’s face. Its eyes bloodshot from persistence yet holding a frown that only comes from years of patience, years of waiting for something as forgiving as a glance. A tear fell from the being’s eye, and it fell far more than one step before reaching me. The phantom turned its head and ascended to a level too bright for my eyes. Now, the only thing I have is the tear that landed with immeasurable grace in a hand too worthless to hold, I have no where to go, and no one is looking after me.





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