Roam

The hinges squeaked as I pressed the front door open and twilight spilled into the house and across my face. The door shut behind and I hardly noticed my own steps into the silhouette and shadow of suburbia. Fences, trees, abandoned play sets, were painted blue by evening’s brush. Quiet surrounded me, only broken from time to time by the hum of a dark contour with headlights. I could hardly stay in my skin so I pushed my feet in front of each other as the moon showed its partially masked face. I ran my fingers through my hair and held the back of my head, a character in some Antonioni picture, wandering.

Windows and streetlights revealed glimpses into the night. An empty kitchen and a couple talking in the room beyond. A child with a bulldog tugging toward the street. A glowing television with an invisible audience.

The energy of life coursed through my body and brain. I want to be close but push kindness to a safe arm’s length. When my circuitry feels broken sometimes a constitutional to no particular place at all is the only thing that can help create order.