Almost as an undertone she drops them into conversation. But when we are done, when all is said and done and long forgotten, they linger and beg me to speak for them.
The second generation shadows. The ones that have broken free from their owners. Sometimes through struggle. Or when someone outgrew their shape and wanted to assume a new dimension that they couldn’t stretch to. Sometimes through neglect that left them hanging at home on a hook on the back of a bedroom door.
And then the ones cast aside by those rare individuals too slippery to hold a shadow close for long. People who move too fast, burn too bright, sitting thinking through the night. People with no need for a grey definition tagging behind them as they walk. So their shadows seek out other dark outcasts where they gather together and reminisce their long lost owners.
And its not just people - its plants and building and birds and chairs. So next time you see a shadow - take a moment to notice what its doing - to make sure its still tied to a form of roughly the same shape and size. Or if its one of those indistinct orphans, who may be eager to become your friend.