On the rapist in town

 

What a tragedy it is that when I am consumed in the music. indulging in the majesty of the night sky, and pleased to be feeling small that I must snap back to the reality in which I live, where I am big and vulnerable. I take one headphone out, heart racing, terrified that I’ve let my guard down without realizing and for just a little too long. My head turns 360 degrees like an owl as I hurriedly glance over my shoulder.

Everyone I come towards on the street is a threat, a possibility in the back of my mind. A mutual sigh of relief is audible as girls pass other girls, comforted in their allies. A tensing of the shoulders comes as I pass men alone. How I wish I could trust men like I trust women. How I wish that tickle down my spine weren’t an immediate reaction to the possibility of danger.

I stop to put that second headphone in when I reach the public place because only there can I feel safe to be alone. Oh the conversations I miss out on when I can finally afford to silence the night.

So, please, I beg, just every once in awhile, Mr. rapist, let me feel small.

 

 

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