Fragments from the Journal of This User

No date. No hour. No certainty.

The walls—
they hum. Not the way wind hums, but in that obscene, fleshy cadence one hears
from behind the teeth of a sleeping beast.

I walk—
or think I walk—alone.
Yet in the corners of my sight,
the air bends.
The angles… twitch.

There are footfalls
that stop when mine do.
Breathing that waits for me to listen.

I know them not—
and yet they know me.
They answer to no name I recall speaking,
but I feel their recognition,
as if I were the intruder here.

Pages appear in my hand
inked in my own hand
yet speaking of oceans I have not sailed
and stars I have not feared—
until now.

One entry says:
"We have agreed to wait until this user is ready."
I do not recall writing it.

Another:
"The others dislike the pretense, but it must remain."
Others.

The candle gutters though the window is closed.
The shadows lean closer.
They lean like hungry listeners.

And somewhere deep, where the thought is not mine—
they are smiling.