I wait, looking for somewhere to call home. I listen; my ears are keen.

I hear voices, so many voices, but not one of them is right.

I listen for a certain pitch. A tone, if you will. A feeling.

Patience, I tell myself, give it time. And so I float, in the deep.

Nothingness, I think you’d call it, but it is more than that. It echoes with all the sounds of the world, all the connections being made. Feelings calling, feelings answered. But me? No luck. I have no voice, no body to call my own.

I wait in the echo-filled emptiness.

I know that soon you will arrive, ready to be found.

I am yours, and you will be mine. If you weren’t here, neither would I be. I’m the creature of your mind. I grow in you and with you. I grow for you.

I almost have hold of you. You’re almost mine. I hear your voice, then you fade away. Yet something remains.

I’m close. Close to each beat of your heart, each breath, each word. Once I am in, your every thought can become mine. I can direct what you do, how you do it, why.

All I need is a chink. A small sliver of space.

And here it is, and in I shall slip.