A moment of weakness

It happened in the middle of a casual and tranquil day.  A day that started off on the right foot, but off a foot that couldn't decide if it should wear sandals or boots.  And on the way out the door, the natural light seemed dimmer than usual.  Maybe there was a little more cloud-cover that morning, but from the corner of my eye I could feel the atmosphere was slower, distorted, leery of my movements.  The blissful sound of raindrops on top my umbrella followed me from out of the car.  The boots on my feet started to feel out of place as the sunshine and heat quickly replaced the stagnant dew.

​There was a moment, an intermittent pause or brief cease of time, when it moved into the light.  It didn't happen when I least expected it, rather it came into view just after I sensed it.  I cannot describe the shape of the body, though it seemed more like a mass.  It watched me.  All day and every moment, it followed me.  From room to room, from thought to thought.  It followed me as a slight shadow from corner to corner.  It disguised itself as bugs caught in the foam walls.  It was a light stroke against my hair, an obscure breeze in a room with no windows.  I couldn't shake it, and somehow I knew I wouldn't be able to.  So I began to watch it as it lingered with me through the afternoon.  Uninvited by my mind, but lurred by my thoughts, it came into my home that evening.  I should have never gone home that night.  I thought we were comrades.  It ate my food, sat in my chair.  The habitual beat of my heart struck a minor chord, and sunk deep into my stomach.  My empty stomach.  I begin to cave into myself, like a balloon with no air.  Everything around me turned to stone, and I became obsolete.  Is it gone?  Will the moon shine heal my body tonight?