Dialogue With the Pull-Up Bar

An Encounter with Self

It was there, waiting for me, at the place that we usually meet at the stroke of midnight, always there, always earlier. It was there, for as long as I remembered, since the day I moved into the neighbourhood.

Though we have met many times before, every new encounter feels like the first, every new encounter feels different.

Yet there was something strange about its demeanour tonight. The mood was more solemn and tense than our usual, casual meetings, almost like the calm before the storm. Even the passing of cars on the nearby road could not break the stifling silence.

The pale moon threw its thin shadows across the floor and framed by the tall dark trees, creating an imposing sight, a sight which I am sure have been the cause of sleepless nights for many men.

Silence was almost like a third party in our meetings, and separating us and trapping us in our own worlds. Any exchange was minimal even though we have many times intimately touched.