I am the static ghost of myself

I can see this girl walking down the beach, right along the tide line. Right and left, playing catch-me-if-you-can with the ocean. It’s her favourite game. I feel like she’s been erring on the side of being caught for years.

She’s head to toe in black, oh wait- is that a peep of colour? Perhaps, or maybe it’s just the sunset glowing in her too blue eyes.

Pausing to pick something up. I’m imagining it’s sea glass. All different colours and textures, it’s been tossed along the sea floor for decades softening its sharp edges. The same way as her psyche.

Her skin is frosty, her frame is small. She looks so harmless. A tiny speck in the universe with mannerisms that can pack a punch or irritate the shit out of you.

So small, but with so much volume, I can hear it from three hundred and thirty-three metres away. So much substance it’s bursting from her chest. Out from beneath all her layers, ’cause it’s spring but feels like wintertime.

She looks so dull but lacks no lustre. I’m kind of drawn to her in some curious way. I have so many questions.

Why are you in the rain, little bird?
Why are you dressed so darkly?
Why are your eyes so deep but your breath so shallow?

Why, what, where are you going?

It’s raining now but still she walks. She gets caught in all the rainstorms. They must follow her. Trying to water her roots and give her nutrients to grow but she just thinks they’re pesky and impolite. Flattening her hair and making her nose run.

Doesn’t the weather know she likes being small? She can hide in a crowd, wear children’s clothes and is overlooked by most everyone. But she gets carded every time she tries to buy a bottle of Cracken black rum and no one takes her seriously.

I’m sitting in the rain and sand watching her and I wonder, how it is I know all of this. I’m wondering and I realise

I am her.

And no one is wondering about me, with the exception of myself. There is an orchestra behind me, I can feel the vibrations in the air but I can’t hear anything.

I’m only minutes from home but I feel so far away, yet not distant enough. I need oceans between this familiarity before I might feel secure.

I’m still watching this girl who I am. She’s fading in and out, like static on an old box television set with the switches beside the bubbled screen. You know, the kind that reverse star bursts and makes that funny bzzzzzt as the screen switches off. It’s the very same one my brother took a twenty cent coin to when my parents weren’t looking and copped a hiding for.

She’s skipping and fading, skipping and dissolving. The sun peeps through the cloud cover for a millisecond and shines straight through her, onto my face.

She’s evaporating, she’s vanishing and all of a sudden I feel her inside of me. She’s berating me with answers and then the orchestra chimes in. Doesn’t chime it crashes and I can’t hear her voice over the music anymore.

Strings raging, drums pounding, brass and wind sounding to high heaven. It’s an orchestral chaos.

Let me sate your curiosity, that is what is inside my head. Welcome to my world.

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