No One Is Calling

Time, the heavens, the void, the sky. Life, the girl, the man, the dream, the woman. With all power, that which is sought hides in that which cannot be controlled, for to control it is to lose it. Space, mirrors, tunnels, reflections, echoes. A structure is arranged to elicit a response from that which is silent. When all is known nothing is out of reach, and nothing is delicate quarry to be sure. Still, one's fingerprints mark the structure, and so the shape seen in nothing bears some semblance of the one who formed the structure with which to invite it. While this synchronization is not avoidable in its entirety, the prime architect can ensure that this mark is past the threshold that either party might consider manipulation. There is a charm, as well, knowing that the one who seeks you accepted your invitation from deep within, outside of their own currently active awareness. I am imagining the dance is complete with a single flourish, when roles can be reversed and the result is much the same, save that you remain you, and I remain me.

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