………….

When at last I drift into sleep, my shadow grows bold. It loosens itself from my body and glides across the room, tracing the outlines of forgotten books, brushing the dust from half-written pages. Sometimes it climbs the walls like ivy, lingering in the corners, watching from vantage points I will never see.

It is mischievous, I think,  knocking pens to the floor like a curious cat, turning the pages of unread letters, leaving faint smudges where no hand has touched. By morning, it is stitched neatly back to my heels, silent and obedient. Yet I cannot help but wonder what secrets it keeps.