It isn't like I didn't try to forget you. God, I tried. I tried it all. I banned you from my thoughts only to dream of you endlessly, mourning your appearance in that suspended place while secretly praying for more. I cast you away every time you spoke but found myself listening harder than before, ******* in details like the color of your shirt, or how your lips molded to the words falling from your tongue looked as ****** as how you might someday kiss a lover, whom I always dreamed was me. I ached for your touch only to deny myself oxygen when we were in the same room, relying on a supply of imaginary wishes to fuel my laughter. Most of all, I let your voice crack me into shards, the scales and spikes successfully keeping out both you and everyone else, effectively leaving me to my own filthy disease. I tried to forget you, and push you away - all of it, only successful when you were far from sight, excommunicated from my tumultuous brain.

But it never quite worked how I needed it to, because some part of me is still ridiculously and foolishly drunk with the idea of you... of us.

Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.