Hollow Woman


My tale begins in the arms of my lover. “You look pale,” he says, brushing a lock of chestnut brown hair behind my ear. “I haven’t been feeling well lately,” I reply. Confusion sets in as I contemplate the fact that I’m normally as rudely healthy as a peasant. It disconcerts me.


Days later, after being diagnosed with “walking pneumonia” or what I like to call “walking dead” (see below visual representation) the confusion has been replaced with gasping as I lay in bed trying to breathe. I never thought it could happen to me, and didn’t understand what was happening.

Daytime health achievements were followed by debilitating, tear wringing nights with my heart fluttering in my chest like a caged bird seeking release from its chambers as I fought to get oxygen into my body.

And so…. the worst is over. I am on the mend. Like a storm that has ridden in on churning clouds and vicious winds that fall away on gossamer threads leaving only silent contemplation in its wake, the worst has crested and I’m left with aftermath.


I am weak. Walking only a short distance requires a rest on each end. I must still wear a mask, not because I may infect someone but because my immune system is as fragile as a china teacup.

But I feel me. I am in here. It’s only a matter of time until I’m healed. 

I look forward to the day when in my beauty and strength once again compel and propel me into the arms of my lover.

For now, for today, I am simply….

The Hollow Woman

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