act iii
by Silvia
This is how you know you're wrong:
A man raises such mighty fists to the door that you first believe he is a giant, and he says your name, first and last, like prayer. He rescues you from a high tower, like a damsel in distress, and tells you that you're the knight in shining armor. You learn that so many people care about what you've never really questioned - that you live.
You never questioned many things, just washed the pots and pans that needed washing and picked up the mail and learned to write very clearly so that you could sign for any packages. And you're stupid, stupid, because it all was a lie.
There were monsters in the closet, maybe, and the sky is blue because a lonely child painted it that way. "It's like magic," you can whisper, and they can't say no. They can't anymore. You watch walls peel back.
The secret world that you go to inside your head is beneath your feet in flat, cold cobblestone. It says hello over and over again, like a song, and when you meet a boy in a store he talks back. It's like you matter and everything.
He doesn't seem to think you know much, and he's right, but he speaks to you like he really is expecting answers, and it's the most marvelous, fantastic thing. You think you're a little bit in love with him for five seconds, and then it passes. He has smaller hands than you, with small white moons on his fingernails, and this is how you picture him in your head until you meet again - those hands gesturing with lazy boredom in the air.
You think you need a sidekick if you're a hero, and then there one is, with freckles stained upon him. He can just sit and watch you, and he's happy. He's one of the first things you've ever really owned, like the owl and the wand, though you will never tell him that. His name is short and to the point. It fits well in your mouth.