She creeps up on you when you least expect it.
You watch her waving you goodbye,
rewind the moment in your head now and then,
time becoming frozen, slippery and turning cold,

melting into water beneath
your fumbling fingers.
She’s the mirror of every fear,
the stranger who lurks in the dark.

She’s the face you still look for
in every crowd, every person you meet.
She’s the hand on your arm from winter.
Warm, steady-then gone. No imprint left

to kiss your summer-soaked skin.
She’s the name that passes your lips
like a forbidden prayer. You shut the eyes.
It stops the tears, but not the tragedy.

She’s the angel that came swooping down,
once upon a time, to rescue the damned.
She’s the one who touched your fragile heart
and watched it smash into thousands of

fragmented pieces. Piercing the soul,
not just the skin that once knew
the feel of her now-sacred touch.
She sees it all. Isn’t that why you ran?

She’s the tragic, romantic figure hiding in the shadows. The third person in your relationship.
Not only haunting your heart, your soul, your head. No, she’s in your house, your room, your
bed.

So, the green-eyed one glares daggers,
hoping to use them to cut down the connection
that fills the room with its steady heartbeat.
No amount of tears can kill the electrical impulses.

Thoughts of her fill your head as you lie
in your boyfriend’s bed, staring
at the gaping chasm between what was
and what, once upon a time, could have been.

When you wake up in the middle of the night,
tear tracks running faster than you did,
choking on the same three syllables,
just remember this.

He might be yours on paper, the one you take home,
but whenever you’re apart from her, you’re alone.
Though you do step over the cracked glass tonight, past love’s forbidden tomb, she’ll always
be the one

hiding in plain sight.

The ghost in the room.