I open the shutters to let in the day. I must conceal myself before you people of the day can see me. I use the day to check that my mask is in place. The mask allows me to look you in the eye and bid you good morning as you stroll past. You meet the gaze of my mask, and you think it’s me you see smiling back at you.
You don’t hear me laugh.
I open the shutters and let in the rain. The rain washes away my mask but, you are not there to see it. You hide in your hoods and your umbrellas, scowling at your feet even as you imagine my smiling mask is still in place.
Only in the rain dare I reveal myself in the day.
I open the shutters and let myself out. I am smiling, but it is not the smile of my mask. You might, if you are truly unfortunate, hear me laugh.