He comes creeping around the corner when he thinks I am not looking. I feel his eyes on the back of my neck and the tiny hairs at the crown of my head stand up on end. His darkness is echoed in the thud of my heart.
His breath is cool like melted peppermint and I feel it carress my shoulders as he dances behind me. I stare into my mirror, hairbrush lying forgotten on the dresser stand as I search the reflection of my own eyes. He ducks and hides just behind me, out of sight.
I absently touch the sharp letter opener that sits incongruously beside the clutter of perfume bottles and powder puffs. An uncapped lipstick falls over and stains the edge of the opener a blood red. I take this as my omen, my sign, my time.
I turn quickly but in the space between breaths he has slid out of sight; Hiding perhaps in another dark corner, or in the darkness behind the windowshades.
I am able only to see the shadow of his exit in the periphery of my vision. The cold that is his calling card recedes, and I imagine wrapping myself in his cloak of shadows, warmed forever by the failed dreams of those who have gone before me.
I sigh, and begin to brush my hair again.
He will return. He always does.
Apr 24
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