The wind brought her on a luminous page
her eyes the same but with a different glare
she was the ghost that had returned in flesh
just as she was, just as she had never been.
A figment with the weight of flashback
a semblance of the void
The name and face filled with fictitious content.
The person that she was, was not a person,
it was not her, she was just a pretext.
Before, it used to haunt me,
now it’s nothing but an uncertain image,
a real person, with real flesh and bones,
joy, kindness, fear and hate.
She is now her, not me horrified by my desire.
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