I think of you on foggy mornings
since you said how much you liked them.
To you, fog added mystery to the world,
and you would venture out into it,
savoring the anticipation of discovery
as hidden things would appear around you.
What excited you about fog still frightens me.
I’ve never liked mystery or surprises,
and I dread the thought of getting lost.
To me, standing out in the midst of a fog
is like being trapped on a tiny island
in some uncharted corner of the sea.
Your presence there could ease some of my fears,
but even then dangers could still creep up unnoticed
until the very last, inescapable moment.
I’ve never trusted things that I can’t see,
but you were always willing to face such things.
Sometimes I think you weren’t unafraid
so much as indifferent to what might happen to you.
I never saw just what you found in the fog,
but you thought it was worth following
even if that meant leaving me behind.
When I wake up and see fog outside my windows,
I wonder where in that strange haze you might be.
Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt