She is Jerusalem royalty.
At a time when there is no monarchy in the city of gold. Once there were kings, queens, jesters, commoners, but now society has morphed into a chaos of sorts: the illusion of equality.
She walks the cobblestone streets with her invisible crown, oblivious to the rules that seem to affect everyone else. Such is the way of queens. They can only see down from the height they’re on. And the angle down is painful to her little pasty neck, so she chooses to keep it up high instead of bending down. And from that height: this Jerusalem royalty cannot see anything underneath her. Such is the way of queens: they are blind to what is underneath them. They are blind wrapped up in their illusion of kingdom. Even in a world where the kingdom ceases to exist.
Queens are relentless in their pursuit of blindness. Queens are committed to being royal at all times. Even in times when royalty simply isn’t there. Or maybe it is there - but only to the queens in us.
I know her well, this queen. I am her shadow. I come in more often when it’s sunset, and she gets a bit too sleepy to notice me following her steps, her gaze, her twirls, her laughter, her joy, her pain. I follow like a shadow unseen by my own maker. After all - such is the way of queens: they are blind to what’s behind them. And when I am forward, her head is too up high to see that I exist. That I am like her in so many ways: I have her shape. I have her frown. I have her smile. I have her curves. I have her taste. I have her voice. I have all those, but she cannot see me, because she is royalty and I am a mere shadow. I exist only in the shift of light. And such is the way of queens: they don’t see past their own light. And their light is forever bright, like a beam lighting the way for the commoners. For the people. And for their shadows.
She is Jerusalem royalty and I am merely her shadow. Aching for her to one day embrace me, acknowledge me, feel me, sense me, touch me, hold me. So we both will envelope in the illusion of equality together. But royalty and shadow are like oil and water. They don’t mix. Royalty is simply to bright to see any shades beyond its light. Such is the way of shadows: we hide. We lurk. We wait. We suffer. Alone. Like rats in dark alleys. Like prisoners in a noir film. We only exist as a color and a frame and that is only to the very preceptive of us. The ones who see behind their own light. The one who aren’t royalty. Such is the way of the people: they see. They see what queens don’t.
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman