Fateful shadows

We wear the wind without knowing who it belonged to before. A coat of yesterday’s anger, today’s kindness sewn in the lining. Faces blur at the edges— the barista is your brother, the stranger at the bus stop holds your childhood in their eyes for just a second. We revolve through doorways where names change but the silence between words feels familiar. One day you are the voice, another day, the echo. Interwoven shadows—we circle each other Actors before a shattered mirror, forgetting who plays whom and whose cue it is. There is something behind it all— not watching, not judging, but weaving. The thread runs through all of us, and tightens when we pull away. --- Christopher Johnston