She’s there, she’s not there, or maybe it is merely my
imagination, haunting me like Marley’s ghost, perhaps warning me to keep my
distance, I don’t know, although I wish I could put a finger on it, to know if
I’m doing right or wrong, some barometer to tell me what direction I should be
going, whether the temperature is hot or cold with the forecast all too vague,
if only someone would say: stop or go, a traffic light with some indication of
when I should slow down, a stop, or if I can go again when the light turns
green. All this is not what it seems. I am lost in space even all this time
later, trying deal with the whims of an invisible woman.
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