How long has it been since I heard the whisper of a fan in the dark? Just last night, I guess. But I didn’t really listen.

The moon is full and the air feels like a cool night in early summer. I watched clouds pass between the light and me like a thin transparent veil, but they had no power over our gaze. The wind carried them off mercifully. I said goodnight and left him hanging there; but like that moon tends to do, he’ll stay outside my window all night and peek through the curtains.

The fan will whirl and whisper his soft light in swirls above me. Tonight, I’ll listen.


Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

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