Written By: C.M. Meighan

It started on quiet walks, alone, in the night.

She felt familiar, not haunting, but reminiscent of a past I could not quite place.

Familiar, like a house that's walls are slowly closing in;

like the family dog eating you alive.

She was brief at first. A glimpse, a chilling breeze.

Then she came more, in the crowded city, under the elevated tracks over by third avenue.

She started to appear, in the gap between the subway walls, as the train rushed through.

Like flipping through a picture book really fast.

I did not find her frightening, I liked that she was mine. No one else seemed to see her. Just us,

staring at each other, in crowded spaces, connected in discretion.

I feared being alone with her for too long. She entranced me, in a way that horrified me. Like a

train on fire, a plane falling out of the sky, a stained glass window. I avoided the late night walks.

The dark places, the solitude.

She became part of me, I got used to her in the crowd, watching through hollow eyes. Years

passed and she stayed the same. New cities, new friends, but she always stayed the same.

I never saw her face all at once, just pieces overtime. Her physique, her luscious hair, eerily

blending into the opaque backgrounds which she would haunt. never to be seen.

I began to seek out the dark, sleep all day, I felt less lonely in the night, in her silence.

I sought out solitude, tranquility. I sought her, the pieces I could connect, the pieces I wanted to

take. I yearned for her,

it consumed me.

And that night as I walked by the lake, there she was, just below the dark ripples.

I needed to see her, I needed her closer, my face grazed the alkaline water, my reflection

blends; EYES meet. Her. Her dark hair, her soft face.

horrified.

Her face grew closer, i submerged.



C.M. Meighan is a poet and essay writer that explores themes of sexuality, grief, and religion’s influences on various aspects of life. Her work has been published in other media such as Foothills Literary Magazine.

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