It was a moment that I thought of as universal.
Their heart rate quickens before their pace.
Their steps become audibly coherent in their disquiet.
Thoughts leave the peace of the beautiful evening, into preparation.
We stare backward as we move forward.
There is no attempt made to hide our concern.
Shame and pretense have no place in these environments.
Even as we start to realize that I am indeed not being followed, our pace quickens.
It is when we meet you, that we realize that this experience is not universal.
There are, in fact, those who stagger from one near miss to another.
Oblivious of the glowing eyes tracking your every movement from beyond the reach of the streetlamp.
It must be nice, we initially think to ourselves.
To take comfort in genetic blessings, in size, race and gender.
To take comfort in residing in a conurbation and its vast personal spaces.
To take comfort in your own historical gravity being enough to always be angling for sympathy.
To take comfort in having the option to make a chosen trauma a lifestyle.
It is not comforting for us to look at your kind in captivity,
For the fences keeping you in will not always hold.
But we will be here for you,
To mend your open wounds.
