A fingertip on glass

What was it that first stirred my sleeping brain to your presence? The slight tap of your finger against the window pane or that tired old notion of your body knowing someone is watching you.

I don’t think you meant to possibly wake me but your nail tinkled against the glass making you draw back so quickly you almost lost your footing.

How do I know this? Because I know you and what you are capable of. Sometimes the prey must get to know the hunter in order to stay alive.

I lay in bed my back to you, fear still with me beneath the sheets. My eyes open to the darkness, wondering how long I can stay like this. Not letting you know, I know.

What were you imagining when your fingers reached out towards me? Were you envisioning stroking my hair, or something more sinister?

Even with your presence known to me, I realize I am not in any danger.

Not yet.

You aren’t ready.

But I am.

Free stock photo by Kristin Vogt - pexels.com


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