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Eliza Hodgkins 1812 · 02-05-2007, 01:50 AM

I do not have a name. None of us do. We are born the moment you think we are there and are frightened of us. For a small span of time you will think of little else besides us after you are tucked in and the lights go off. You will hear an unexpected creak, scratch or hum and know with certainty that I am there.

And so I am, thanks to you.

I mean you no harm. None of us have ill intentions. We are born from belief and soon you will forget all about us, but for now I wait for quiet words to fill my empty spaces. It begins with, “I know you’re there.”

I am. Hello. Your words make me happy.

“I can hear you breathing.”

Your imagination.

“You can’t hurt me.”

I would never occur to me to try. Keep talking. Your address is all that I can ever know. Your voice squeaks out a raspy trill which fills me with joy. To be known is to be loved.

Music is when you cry out for your mother. So long as you think I am there I belong to you. I am beholden. Your startled breaths, you sniffling nose, that fear sweat smell that muffles your milk scented skin. These mortal aspects of you are what weave my existence. Once you will be brave enough to send your head over the edge of the bed. I will hear you slink down, down, down until I can sense you there. When you look into the dark the dark looks back. I feel every atom of you. It is love, it is love, it is love.

“Please leave me alone.”

That is not how it works. We don’t leave. We are left. Maybe you will grow up. Maybe your breath stops tomorrow. I cannot know when it will happen but I do know someday you will die.

Not so with us. Once here we are always here. Entirely yours, like I said: beholden. When you figure out that the creak was your sister’s foot on the attic stair and the scratch just a tree branch irritating the window, when you understand that the hum is nothing more than an audible power line on your street you will master your fear and render me insensate. In deafness I will wait for the sound of your voice. I will forever feel its loss.

We pay our debts with remembrance.

02-05-2007, 01:50 AM	#9
Eliza Hodgkins 1812 Sputnik Sweetheart Join Date: Jan 2005 Location: Long Beach Posts: 2,685	Monsters I do not have a name. None of us do. We are born the moment you think we are there and are frightened of us. For a small span of time you will think of little else besides us after you are tucked in and the lights go off. You will hear an unexpected creak, scratch or hum and know with certainty that I am there. And so I am, thanks to you. I mean you no harm. None of us have ill intentions. We are born from belief and soon you will forget all about us, but for now I wait for quiet words to fill my empty spaces. It begins with, “I know you’re there.” I am. Hello. Your words make me happy. “I can hear you breathing.” Your imagination. “You can’t hurt me.” I would never occur to me to try. Keep talking. Your address is all that I can ever know. Your voice squeaks out a raspy trill which fills me with joy. To be known is to be loved. Music is when you cry out for your mother. So long as you think I am there I belong to you. I am beholden. Your startled breaths, you sniffling nose, that fear sweat smell that muffles your milk scented skin. These mortal aspects of you are what weave my existence. Once you will be brave enough to send your head over the edge of the bed. I will hear you slink down, down, down until I can sense you there. When you look into the dark the dark looks back. I feel every atom of you. It is love, it is love, it is love. “Please leave me alone.” That is not how it works. We don’t leave. We are left. Maybe you will grow up. Maybe your breath stops tomorrow. I cannot know when it will happen but I do know someday you will die. Not so with us. Once here we are always here. Entirely yours, like I said: beholden. When you figure out that the creak was your sister’s foot on the attic stair and the scratch just a tree branch irritating the window, when you understand that the hum is nothing more than an audible power line on your street you will master your fear and render me insensate. In deafness I will wait for the sound of your voice. I will forever feel its loss. We pay our debts with remembrance.
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