a vanishing act


Something inside me popped, dissolved, and died.

The residue spread like a dark stain on a white shirt, getting bigger and larger, giving way.

I waited for the stubborn struggle to dissipate, but, in the end, it closed in on me.

Forgotten or despised, which is better? “Who is this?” or “I never liked her.”

I wish I hadn’t noticed. I became curious and couldn’t help checking to see if it’d happen again. And, it did, again and again.

I’m okay … I’m okay … I’m okay.





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