I watch her approach. She’s dressed in black – dressed to kill.
Her movement has a casual sway back and forth. I’m not interested in you. I don’t care if you exist, she seems to say. But I know better. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her.
She circles past me, arching around and drawing up next to my side. Hello, don’t mind me.
Her touch is light. Just a brush on the arm, a glance across the hand, a kiss on the cheek. I shake my hand to send her away.
She doesn’t get the hint.
Again she returns. Really, you would send me away? her look says. You can trust me. You don’t need to worry about a thing.
I brush her off again.
This girl. Why does she keep coming back? I don’t want her love. I don’t want her attention.
It’s all about her. She takes and takes and never gives back. She eats at my expense. She hums her annoying little song. She brings her uninvited friends. The whole situation sucks the life out of me.
I grow tired of her continued presence. Will she ever leave me alone? Is there a meaning behind her advances?
Maybe there is no meaning. So often I’m quick to apply a purpose to every event of my life. I create a story around what’s happening – a story that only exists in my head. Perhaps for once, I should let go of the narrative.
She comes back again. Bloody mosquito, will you ever leave me alone?