Emily Khym '23
I engraved ghosts into my walls,
painting the ceiling lifeless, pale,
hollow. And they played hide-and-seek
between my ribbons and sneakers to the
thud of my great grandfather’s clock.
A year passed and I struggled to ride my
skates outside. I slipped and slid down
the curbsides, delicately
drawing scar by scar into my skin.
Another year went by and I graduated
from my favorite yellow swing to
the big kid swing pushed by my ghosts that
I had learned to cherish behind my white ribbons.
I became an adult when they faded
slowly into the crevices of my clock.
And only the shell of my half-cracked body remained
near my crumbling walls.