They come in the listless hours of darkness. They don’t talk; their silence impales the shroud of wilful naiveté. They come together, for if they were alone, you could reason with them. Maybe, they know that a bit too well.

 

They act as if oblivious of the others presence. Maybe they don’t realise. While one philosophises, the other philanders. While one is jaundiced in the hubris of rectitude, the other humbled by the yoke of servility. While one sings and dances, another lets out muffled cries of anguish.

 

There is one pacing the room with a book, chanting phrases of unsullied dreams. There’s another pulling at my pillows, to shake me out of my reverie. There is one pointing his index at me, from the easy chair. There is another, sweating profusely, pulling himself up the ceiling fan. There is one bedraggled and asking for more. And there is a certain someone looking straight into my eyes…

 

There don’t ask questions, they don’t demand answers. They carry on with their invocations to a demigod I have never worshiped. I dare not mock their belief, though. I just pray for peace amidst this chaos in my secret universe.

 

However, as I lie naked in my bed, stripped of my ken, I feel no semblance of shame. For when I close my eyes, I know, they seamlessly fuse into the reprobate overcoat of my mundane compromises.

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