hiding

“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”

-Pablo Neruda

hiding

Hiding /ˈhīdiNG/ (noun): a secret refuge or means of concealment

I feel like a child playing hide-and-seek. The closet was always my go-to hiding place. The enclosed space comforted me with its clothes draped over my face. It blocked out the world. It fostered safety. It induced vulnerability.

As I grew older, this closet became my place to cry and to scream when I couldn’t show it to the rest of the world. Hiding was my escape. I continued to grow older and this closet morphed into other things. Then you.

I rushed out of my gate with legs stiff from the flight home. A tall shadow with a duffle bag and jogger pants caught my eye.

That’s ridiculous.

I walked away, but my strides grew weaker with each step. The little hope I had tugged at the straps of my backpack until it became too heavy to ignore. I came to a stop and I set my bag down slowly, as to not disturb the soul of doubt inside me.

No, that’s impossible.

I rummaged through my backpack to find my glasses. Funny. Like glasses would make it appear any less hazy. My fingers landed on the worn-down edges of my glasses case and I heard the laugh. Your laugh. I slowly unfolded from my crouched position and just stood there. I held onto the railing and gasped for air in the muggy walkway. I could still hear it.

A refuge. That is what you were supposed to be — a safe space to slip away to. A warm blanket to shelter me from the frigid draft caused by cold whispers surrounding me.

I put my glasses on. I could still see it. Your dimples deepened and your nose scrunched slightly with your deep, rich laugh. It’s the kind that makes you feel secure. It had the tender touch of your favorite worn-in sweater.

I retraced my steps to your empty flight terminal. All that lingered was the faint breath of a ghost I was all too familiar with. I turned my blank gaze to where the plane had just been.

Where are you?

The vibrations of my phone startled me. A notification blinked on my screen.

“Have you landed yet? I missed you, babe.”

I know I shouldn’t be asking. We are both logical people. Too logical. I guess that never really equated to wise.

You are supposed to be a shadow. I had taken the sharpest scissors I could find and snipped through the films of memories seared into my documentary. I taped it all back together as if you never existed. I tried to muddle the events, but I guess that’s why they say haunted.

I am haunted.

I am haunted by the recurring nightmare in which I know what’s coming. But I find comfort in the repetition. The control revives me.

I knew it was for the better of us both. Yet my soul lingered somewhere between my shell and your shadow.

Where are you?

I love you.In secret, in the dark, in shadows of my soul where you shouldn’t be. In hiding.

Where are you going?

… Where are you?

I slid my glasses off my face, hands heavy with the weight of what had been. I gathered myself and my belongings. I began to roll my luggage away.

I almost forgot.

“Goodbye.”

—

Lauren Hyun is currently a student of Georgetown University’s McDonough School of Business. She is a Marketing major with a French minor and hopes to work with creative industries and non-profits. In her free time, she is a photographer, writer, and model. To see more of her work, go to www.lauren-hyun.format.com .