Chapter Text
He picks out stitches in the lamplight
Feigning ignorance
To the heaviness upon his back
The breeze from the window brushes his shoulder
It is four minutes ‘til midnight
There are not many stitches left
He does not glance to his left
He stays firmly in his puddle of lamplight
The seconds tick on toward midnight
They say bliss lies in ignorance
No on is standing at his shoulder
The window remains unopened at his back
His mind drifts, back
To when he ran away from home, to when he left
The memory manifests as an ache in his shoulder
He continues to pick stitches in the lamplight
Is bliss found in ignorance?
The time is getting on for midnight
He has until midnight
To unpick these stitches, to put it back
Bliss is not ignorance
There are only four stitches left
There is a flicker in the lamplight
Something only just barely does not touch his shoulder
Something touches his shoulder
It is not yet midnight
There are two shadows on the floor in the lamplight
He looks back
He looks left
There is no sense anymore in ignorance
What is ignorance?
There is no sense in ignoring the hand on his shoulder
The shadow bleeding back on the floor to his left
It is four seconds ‘til midnight
There is someone at his back
He ventures, “Come into the lamplight”
He loses the last of his ignorance, there in the circle of weak lamplight.
Someone with black hair-eyes-soul touches his shoulder, his back.
Nothing of his old life is now left. It is long past midnight.