Dark vs. light

He fits so well into this world. Seamless and solid like a park bench in summer. He just belongs.

He claims he doesn’t, that this is not his home, but I think that’s mostly for my benefit. He contemplates time and space and the possibility of life beyond the stars, like a poet with a heart made of glass. But it’s all just Shakespeare. It’s all just pretending he sees the darkness in the corners. His world is so full of light. Compared to the murkiness that I make my way through. Day after day.

His future in its fancy clothes and me not even caring if it’s dressed. Cautious feet going down steep steps. The laces tied by tired fingers. It takes so little for things to come undone.

And yet he stands there, his back to the window, to the past. As if all of this is worth it.