There  is only one place left to us to forget the world.  It is found in the dark. The night. Where there are only the barest hints of light.

The best of these are to be found in autumn or spring. Like this evening.

The air through the window, is crisp yet sweet. The city is dark. I lie lost in a tangle of sheets. The warm breath of a man. For now my escape. We lie entwined breathing, touching, forgetting. Here and only here I can forget the world. I don’t need to wonder who is behind those headlights, that occasionally sweep the streets. Night, in all the fairytales I heard growing up was always the most dangerous. Where all bad things took place. Now with age and my world, it is the only place that I feel safe. There is the illusion of security laying here with a bristled neck against my cheek. But it is only an  illusion. I know this. It is fleeting, imaginary, but this only heightens it all and making it all the better.

I find a similar sensation on the evenings he is not here. Not with another man, though I suppose that is possible, but rather sitting on my front porch, the railing and its arch separating me from the rest of the world. Allowing me to observe, but not be observed. Protecting me. I love this illusion that I am safe on this deck, cuddled away in the corner. I watch the night. I can see the air, or at least I imagine I can. The picture before me is so full of it. One porch is lit across the cobbled street. But there is no life. Only houses. They, like Vincent’s scruff they are my accomplices in my escape. They can see me. They know I am here. They suggest this by their illumination. There. Another one goes out. One light closer to being alone.

I fantasize about being alone, but do not really desire it. It is not what I want, at least not physically. I want these companions, these houses across the way. They too live at night, lit up and in focus, unlike in the day. Some how even with all the lights the city possesses the stars still manage to contend. Not all, but some. The stronger ones make themselves known above the trees.

It is easier these days. There are less out and about late, less porch lights waiting. People don’t want to be notice now. They too are looking for an escape. I have less night companions now on this porch, this street, but more, than ever before if I choose to take them and hide beneath my sheets.  I welcome more like Vincent to aid in my escape. It is the only way to forget what things had been. It keeps what things are from the light- There are voices on the street- I hunch back against the wall, not wanting to be seen. Hoping against hope that the houses wont give me up, that mine will protect me and not prove my illusion. I miss Arthur in this moment.

I never miss Vincent, only what I make of him. If it were not him it would be another. He does add some of his own flares to the situation though which I like. It makes the escape sweeter, truly a living fantasy. I wonder if I would think the same if it hadn’t been for that day. If everything had stayed the same, would I have changed? Would my morals, which I had thought where mine, would they allow me Vincent? Would I feel the same need to escape? But there must always be something to escape, no? ‘Lets just lie here and forget the world’, what a perfectly beautiful phrase. So Tangible. Why do I ever leave that bed, that embrace? Why must morning always come? Just once I would like night to stay. I would breath it in and forget for just a few minutes more. – shit! Another light. One this time. Giving me away. The end of this precious illusion has just faded.