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Through the streets he steps without effort of control. Un-laboured and without care, he is many things, but mostly he isn’t. There are no distractions from him, his ease wipes clean the imperfections of his surroundings, making them sparkle and ignite, shine brighter than even the most complete of moments purely through his presence. It is as if the world has held its collective breath, sweating slightly on the brow, worried of disturbing the fine balance that hangs in his wake. But they cannot. They will not. He is beyond this moment, transcending the strings the bind us, walking to his own beat and never smiling. We are careless, we are clumsy, we fail and fall and smile and laugh. He does not. Is not. Cannot.
Wherever he goes the wind follows and darkness cools the blur. Reality becomes a pause, a second before and after, but never when he walks. And yet few turn their heads. Few acknowledge his presence as if to do so would break the reflection of the midnight pool, bathed in perfect moon guilt.
Who is he? The unanswerable question
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Remember my friend, despite all you are, all we are, the universe will tick on, long past our departure.
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