Streetlamps

    I

am of the dark.  I don\'t mean it in that Goth, spooky way. I\'ve just

always had a slight affinity for it.  At times, it was my only hope

of survival.  Other times, it was my greatest weakness.  If I

hide in the dark, I don\'t have to wear my mask.  When I come out into

the light, the jester is in court.  To me, the dark is like a child\'s

blanket; warm and comforting.  Sound ridiculous?  You haven\'t

heard anything yet.


    He

is the candle that pierces my dark. Candle, Hell, he\'s a floodlight. 

It is an odd change of rolls, this one.  He is usually the one who

locks himself away.  But I am the thief, the one who hides. 

I know that he is more than what he seems, I know he has a heart that he

has buried.  And thief that I am, I am determined to retrieve his

heart and give it back to him.


    I

realize that I have been walking down the road towards the school. I know

he is in our room, typing away at that thrice damned laptop of his. 

I sometimes get this insane urge to shut the thing on him, but I remember

a little thing called self preservation, and always refrain, but just barely. 

I sigh, and kick the dead autum leaves that litter the ground. A sudden

noise alerts me, and I look up.


    

He is standing under a streetlamp, the  light making a halo around

him. The one I have come to think of as an angel, whom I would gladly die

for.  i walk up to him, stoping just outside the circle of light. 

He looks at me, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. Then he reaches out

and clasps my hand in his, drawing his other arm across my shoulders in

a brief hug.  I smile to myself. Perhaps the light isn\'t as cold as

I had thought.

end?