Watcher in the Shadows

I wander among shadows, where light deceives and darkness speaks the truth. I see faces that gaze but do not see, eyes that shine but are blind. You walk a path that twists through mirrors, reflecting not the world, but illusions you have crafted for yourselves. You believe in the dawn, yet stand beneath the shroud of night. You reach for the light that only smolders in the mist, unaware that the true flame lies deeper, where darkness is dense, and a single spark is like a scream in the abyss. I am the watcher. The one who knows the price of a gaze that can pierce the veil. But I cannot tear it from your eyes, just as one cannot strip bark from an ancient tree. Each must choose which darkness to wander: the one outside, or the one within. Oh, how I pity those who walk in circles, believing their path is straight. How I pity those who see only reflections, but not the essence. Yet even I do not know how to reveal what is hidden—not behind forests or mountains, but beyond the edge of your own thought. I wait. I watch. I call—not with a voice, but with a shadow that slips at the edge of your vision. Will you hear me, lost ones, or will you walk on, believing the world is only what you see? This was Richard.