Sophie’s Shadow

Some days I’m free.

Free to be myself.

Free to do what I want.

And I am happy.

Then, she comes.

Then, Sophie comes. And I am not happy. I am not me. I am not free. She holds me prisoner with the brilliance of her eyes and the flirtatious lilt to her laugh. She makes me feel dirty and cheap and out of shape and out of sorts.

But I adore her.

I adore Sophie with her brilliant green eyes and her laugh that seems to come from the sun. I walk in her shadow, hoping for a touch of her light. She sees me and she lets me follow her. And that is all that I want.

Until she leaves.

And she is gone.

Sophie is gone with her light and her glory.

I am no longer confined to her shadow.

I am bright.

I am brilliant.

I am beautiful.

I am happy.

Then, she returns.

Then, Sophie returns. And I am again her shadow. Her ugly, malformed shadow. I long for her to look back at me and see me and acknowledge me. When she does, it’s like God smiles at me. I live for those moments, but they are always too short. And she never stays

Sophie.

Sophie always leaves.

And she sets me free.

She sets her prisoner free.

Free to just be me.

Me without her.

Until she returns.

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