existential

see the girl sitting alone on the park bench.
it is summer. humid, exhausting heat.
she is is sitting there, in long-sleeve turtleneck and skinny jeans, faded black converse and untidy black hair that surrounds her delciate face and only brings out further the shadows around her eyes.

she can't be older than seventeen.

she stares out, staright ahead, hollow eyes, blank expression. vacant stare.
no one is there.


you are tempted to go sit on the bench next to her. you want to say something. anything. tell her you're sorry that the world is so cruel. tell her how much you wish you could show her the beauty around her, the beauty within her. tell her you bet she has a pretty smile, and gorgeoues eyes when they aren't so hidden, and oh, how her hair flows so elegantly in the wind, how her fragile frame makes her lovely.

you are scared, though. afraid what you might find if you look into her eyes. afraid to see what ghosts look like. afraid to face your demons.

see, there is nobody here, but you and her.
and she, she is nothing but a figment, or
she is you.
and you are no one.

you never existed.

the earth fades beneath your feet and

you disappear.