Not any night.
Not as long as she haunts the streets of our dreams. She. The one who should not leave us.
She is part of us. The part we won’t say hello to. The part we won’t acknowledge lives in us. The dark spirit that wants to kill, will kill, if set free.
Some call her devil.
Some call her saint.
Depends, doesn’t it?
How often she knocks at our door, pleading, begging, taunting, teasing, if only to be set free, just a minute, just a second, that’s all.
What’s the harm in that she asks?
Wouldn’t you like to see me?
See what form I can take?
What merriment I can make?
One to please you; of that I am sure.
And certain of us succumb to this fantasy, to loosing earthly bonds.
Life, after all, can be dull at times.