Liminality

I could only ever see him at night. He was almost formless, standing in the corner of my room. Standing. He was definitely standing. I couldn't see legs or arms or an appendage of any kind but I knew he was standing. He remained with such purpose and intent that it was impossible for him to have been floating or existing in some way other than to stand. So that's what he did. Stand.

I wish it was a dream, or a mirage, or even a premonition of events to come but I knew it was real and that he was stood there in the corner, behind where the door opened into and next to the right side of the bookshelf; the negative space of the room. That's all he was to me; negative space. He was something that wasn't. His existence was a manifestation of the not and his eyes were the purest form of nothingness. They removed what was there in the room and replaced it with what wasn't there. He made me wish there was nothing there. He never hurt me or wished me ill but his very placement in my room was enough to make me long for his absence. I wished to be alone and he made me feel more than that. Whatever is on the other side of loneliness is exactly where he placed me: somewhere without even myself to keep me company. My very essence robbed of essence.

Now I lie here. Wondering if he'll ever leave or I'll ever leave or if the feeling of longing to be left alone will ever leave. Or if we'll both be stuck with each other forever, interminably transfixed. My family know all about him. They were the ones that told me he harbours no ill will towards me.

They don't know what I know, though. I know that despite his lack of purpose and his lack of form and his lack of lack that he's getting closer. I've noticed it every night for the last three years. He's creeping towards me when he thinks I'm not looking. When he thinks I can't perceive him and I can't bare to watch him anymore. So now I keep my eyes on him all night. I watch him through the darkness. Those two black eyes in the blackness; those voids within the void. I make sure he knows I see him and I know what he is. He is me and I am him. I can see him in the dark because I can see myself in the dark and the closer he draws to me the closer I draw to him. We will join: formless and emptyless, perfect and imperfect. I fear him more than anything else but I cannot run from him or hide from him because he won't let me so now I let the darkness consume me. I wish to become one with the night.