I mastered the game of hide-and-seek.
I hid. You sought. I was never found.

Whenever you became a stranger or
threatened me with a red and blue waltz,
I escaped to concrete carousels.
Round and around, 
I roamed until I was lost to both you and myself.

"You cannot find me if I am lost to myself."

I knew faltering streetlights as well as they knew my screams and cries.
I befriended absent skies and fawn in the nearby woods.
I asked them if I could become a red giant or
a refugee of the forest, but
they did not understand their reflection begging for assistance.

I was a dying star ready to explode;
exhausted by white lies, apologies, and empty promises.
I was a deer in headlights except I did not freeze.
I ducked behind parked cars or became engulfed in bushes.

Eventually, I returned to what was once home.
If I was lucky, my seeker would already be asleep.
Now that I am safe in the light, I wonder why I cannot easily breathe.
Perhaps I am still running from the dark.

Featured art: “Deer in the Woods” by Elizabeth Strong.