The Anatomy of An Aguamala

(Part II, please refer to the post below so you aren’t lost. I’m sorry that these words seem sloppy, I wrote them half asleep and it feels funny to revise them. Like I’d rather not even read these whispers that admit that I’m— ?)

So the rain would stop and my sleepiness would fade, the flush of my neck would pale and the pulsing heart would slow to a manageable lull. I would see him in the hallways and see his imposter’s face in those last moment before sleep claimed my thoughts, but he would never be the same person who had held me while I slept.

I drag myself from my bed and my feet hit the cold wooden floor, exposed to the elements and denied the protection of socks: they’re frozen. I’m startled to alertness. A small part of me, like a little fishhook snared on the insides of my bellybutton, pulls at my attention, luring me back to sleep like he’s wrapped his cool fingers around my naked stomach and is pulling me back to bed.

But he’s not. And my recollection of this fantasy is already fading as I rub the sleep dust from my eyes.

All I remember is his name.

xx