I don't want to blink right now, but I've never been very good at staring contests; ok actually I'm down right the worst person at them. But I don't want to blink. I can see you from across the table. Sitting and staring right over at me. I could lay my head back down, I could close my eyes and realize to myself that you are just a ghost, but I don't want to blink right now.
The expression on your face is the one I love to see. So, maybe my memory is creating this. Is this punishment? Have I struck a wrong chord with God today? Why is this ghost sitting across the room staring at me. My heart is racing faster and faster; the hair on the back of my neck is up and the sweat is pouring down.
I don't blink, I won't. I haven't seen you for so long. Why do you visit now? Why now? Why visit in the middle of this night, when my eyes are heavy and my head is dizzy? Why now?
I could sleep. I could pretend that I'm pretending. Because everyone but me knows you aren't right there. You aren't sitting in that chair. Your hands are not touching the table. Your eyes are not fixed on my own. You aren't here. But I can't blink right now.
I can feel the pressure on my eyes. It's getting heavier and heavier, until final my eyelids rush down as if they were running late for a plane ride.
I panic and open them again as fast as I can. And to no one else's surprise but my own. You are gone.
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