Darling

It had been a week. And each night, she still appeared on time. She ghosted into my room, heeled feet gently tapping against wood floor, stopping at my door. She twisted the worn knob with care, as if she was a nurse visiting a sick patient. Then, with a dancer’s grace, she would jump, her feet perfectly floating above my floor. It was the same routine every night.

And every night, she stole my voice. For a week, I would lay speechless beneath her eyes. I left the light on for her, a strange compassion. Maybe I just wanted to admire her beauty. She had the bluest eyes, like two puddles.

“You don’t plan to stop?”

“Darling,” she said, “I’m waiting for you.”