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  • The ghost in my attic looks a lot like me, but she seems younger and more vulnerable.

    I catch a glimpse of her from time to time, or she catches a glimpse of me; I might be the ghost in her version of this story, who knows. When we run into eachother we’re both startled, both stopping for a moment to stare at eachother, both waiting for the other one to vanish. I wonder if she’s secretly hoping that I’ll stick around.

    Is she tossing and turning on her side of reality the way I am, here, on my side? Does she pace back and forth waiting for someone to finally release her spirit, the way I used to frantically, furiously march up and down the staircase in the house where my heart was kept hostage, years ago? When she stares at me like that, is it because she's hoping I'll tell her it’ll pass, that the waiting will soon be over, that the pain will implode and she will eventually grow into some kind of deeper understanding of herself, of life, of love?

    Or is she trying to tell me something, is she trying to show me that a mirrored image can sometimes be an opening, or that a seemingly impossible connection can in fact be the only way through, or that the answers I seek elsewhere can only be found in the enigmatic depths of my own soul?
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