Maria

Like a devout inside the temple and the lonely outside, I too aimlessly look for little notes in the books that I buy. If they could speak, they'd tell the story of their being. When they were there without a promise to be kept perpetually but with one to alternate consecutively. They whisper as if calling my name and I swear my name becomes more powerful, but I digress. I found a note today, it was perhaps, addressed to someone I might never meet or to someone who barely existed. It read “my dearest, I want you to have this book in hopes that you won't be hoping for me. I leave you with my love for I don't want to live in a world where you aren't.” It's absolutely grotesque how one man's loss is another man's gain. The whispers came back again, this time it wasn't my name that they took, it was hers, it was Maria's. As the whispers grew louder, my powers weakened. The whispers turned into voices. I looked in the mirror, trying to make sense of things until I realized it wasn't my reflection staring me down. My heart jolted 100 beats per minute, my limbs making sounds never heard before. A voice, mouthing something in the background, trying to run away, I could tell. Weak in my knees, still standing. With each beat of my heart, I gained the power once lost and at that moment, I realized, I was Maria.