Mr. Moonlight

“` Shall I say,” he said to no one in particular, “or shall I just wander about awhile?” He paced back and forth, back and forth, his back round with tension, his hat pulled now tight down over his brow – now propped back on his crown to relieve the tightness around his temples.

The moonlight drifted down the ivy`s trail to the ground; it slipped like the sighing wind along the window panes, the many window panes, that framed the doubled doors in front: doors that sat like guardians in the night.

“What shall I say, oh my! what shall I say.” He stopped a moment, but he could not sit – no he could not sit at all. He looked up at the windows and tugged his hat down over his brow, tight and sure against a wind not there at all. “Perhaps I should wait another day,” he said to the bus stop bench, “yes, perhaps another day.”

He looked up then, perhaps realizing that it was not day at all, no, not at all; it was night and the moon was full, and the house was full, and he was empty and no one knew.” Another day.” The words drifted furtively on the moonlight towards the windows as she passed. “Is there someone there?” she thought to herself as she stopped to look more closely.

The house downstairs was full and bright; the party planned and all arranged for. The man, chosen for her, awaited, and she detested him – and no one knew. She glanced one last time out the window at all the dreams beyond, and no one was there – and no one knew.