A little girl with golden ringlet curls skips up the stone path
Tucked under her arm, she carries a white box tied together with a red, elastic ribbon
Come play with me she pleads, pulling at my shirt
My mind is elsewhere, and though I wasn't expecting a visitor, I laugh and let her drag me over under the big willow tree
She cuddles close, her small heartbeat familiar, almost
Her muddy brown eyes sparkle with excitement
I want to show you my toys she says, pushing her box to me
Open it! she orders
Good-naturedly, I tug at the ribbon
It is tough, almost muscular to touch, but I wrestle the box from its grasp
Only to realize how beautiful the box itself is, a rose and thorn pattern carved into its bone-white ivory panels
Go on the girl prompts
I push off the lid, and smile at the girl before looking inside

The girl claps her hands and laughs as I gag
Acidic tears burning in my eyes
Aren't they lovely? she sing-songs
She shows off her puppets one at a time, squeezing each by their broken strings
And I recognize them all

There is an elementary school teacher, a hunched and frail grandmother, the piano man, that boy from my town who jumped off a bridge,
my dad
All of them so very, very
Dead
My own personal collection of ghosts dangled before my eyes

The left side of their chests are stained rust-red, a gaping heart-shaped wound hacked into the fabric of who they were

I stare at the girl wide eyed, shaking with rage
What are you? I whisper
She blinks up at me and then, I recognize her
I recognize myself
For this little girl is me as I was, before I met the boy,
The boy with endless eyes
Before I met-

The little girl lunges into my face
Baring her small, perfect teeth and red, red lips in a controted grin

He says hi she hisses
And a shiver runs through my veins

She stands, pushing her way beyond the weeping branches of the willow tree, clearly done with me
Over her shoulder she calls the words
You can expect a visit soon
Before skipping down the stone path, box in arm again
Until even the gold reflections of her hair are swallowed by mists

I shudder, wishing I could close my eyes
But I see her box every time I blink, with my dead all meatly arranged in a line-
I go and chase the sunlight
And it gets a little better
I feel safe enough to breathe

But still, in the back of my mind,
I know her warning resonates true
Expect a visit soon

Somehow I'm never ready when he comes.