You don't know me but I know you. Our relationship has always been one-sided -- that's the nature of it. If I could change it, I wouldn't.
There's a measure of control that being known would require giving up and I'm not ready to do that. Not yet.
I won't ever be ready.
Some times when it's growing late and I can feel the closeness that we are to the outside, no matter how thick the walls, I see other places, places that I may not have been but that I know nonetheless. I know their dark walks, the smell of their summer foliage and the damp underbelly of their bridges, stretched across silent, murky waters. I know the bright corners of their parks, sunny spots of grass that stand at the ready for blankets and gentle basking. Some of them have tall grasses that tickle the backs of knees and worm their way between socks and skin; others are barely patched over the grass a tangled mess of sparsely leaved creepers, where you can watch the insects crawl about.
Did you doubt it? I know you did. Rest assured though, I *know* it.
Just as I know you.