The Dinner Guest

RDP Tuesday: FOG

René Magritte

The Mist from the beach

below my home

creeps over black jagged rocks and ocean bleached bones

on the nights, when the Moon is full

to my front door

it never knocks, it just walks in, besides the door is never locked.

It takes a seat at the dinner table

next to the fireplace that is always cold

no matter how bright the flames burning inside of it are.


It politely waits for me to appear and it always compliments

me on the settings and the food

even the wine, which I never drank when I was alive.


” Nothing for you tonight? ” the Mist asks me.


I look out the window, to the empty driveway, there isn’t a soul to be seen.

” It doesn’t look like it. ” I say sadly.

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