shadow self
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There was a woman living in my house who looked exactly like me. I noticed her before I saw her. That is how these things usually begin. Not with apparitions standing at the foot of the bed or doors slamming themselves in the middle of the night. Nothing so theatrical. It began with a coffee…
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He didn’t wake up one day and say, “Today feels like a great day to unpack decades of emotional damage.” No. He woke up hungover, annoyed, and weirdly aware that his life kept repeating like a bad episode nobody asked to rewatch. Same arguments. Same women. Same ending. Different names. Same script. And somewhere between…
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They did not notice the moment she learned how to take. That is always how it begins. For years she was a vessel. A quiet thing. A body that absorbed moods the way stone absorbs heat. People leaned into her presence and left lighter, never asking where the weight went. They mistook her stillness for…
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Alice woke up where she was supposed to be. The room was familiar enough to pass inspection. The walls held their shape. The light came from a window that had always been there. Nothing announced her return. Nothing shimmered. Nothing bowed or laughed or vanished. If this was waking, it was the most convincing version…
