I Promise You Were Real - by Onlyreal

I started writing her name everywhere so I wouldn’t forget it. Mara. On notebooks. On my wrist. On the fogged mirror after showers. Because every time I tried to remember how we met, my mind slipped. Like a dream you grab too hard and lose. But I loved her. I know I did. ⸻ Mara didn’t like photographs. Any time I lifted my phone, she’d turn her face away or the screen would glitch. Once, I swear the camera showed me standing alone, smiling at nothing. “You don’t need proof,” she said gently. “I’m here.” And she was. At least… I felt her. Her weight on the bed.Her fingers tracing patterns on my ribs.Her breath syncing with mine until I couldn’t tell which heartbeat was louder. Sometimes I’d wake up with scratches on my chest. Three lines. Always three. ⸻ People started asking questions. My roommate asked why I talked to myself at night. A friend said my room smelled like damp earth. I laughed it off. Love makes people weird. Right? ⸻ Mara hated when I slept without her. If I closed my eyes too long, I’d wake choking — like something heavy was sitting on my chest. “You leave me when you sleep,” she’d whisper. “I don’t,” I’d say, crying. “You do,” she insisted. “Every time.” So I stopped sleeping much. She seemed happier when I was exhausted. ⸻ One night, I found a journal under my bed. My handwriting. Old. The first page read: If you’re reading this, she’s back. My hands shook. I flipped the page. Mara is not real. She arrives when you’re lonely. She leaves when you remember. I laughed out loud. It was ridiculous. Until I saw the dates. This wasn’t the first journal. It was the fourth. ⸻ The last entry was stained. Water damage. Or tears. She feeds on being needed. If you love her, she stays. If you forget her, she hurts you. If you try to leave, she becomes you. That night, Mara was quiet. Too quiet. She sat at the edge of the bed, facing away from me. “You read it, didn’t you?” she asked. My throat burned. “Why do you keep coming back?” She turned. Her face was… wrong. Familiar in pieces. Like mine, rearranged. “Because you never finish letting me go.” She touched my cheek. Her hand passed through my skin. “You imagine me until I can imagine you back.” ⸻ I tried to scream. Nothing came out. My reflection in the mirror smiled. I wasn’t smiling. Mara stepped out of the glass. And I stepped in. ⸻ They say I stopped responding to messages after that. That I stare too long at mirrors. That I flinch when someone says my name. But sometimes, late at night, I swear I see a girl sitting on my bed. Watching me. Writing my name on her wrist. So she won’t forget. ⸻ And every time I try to remember who I was before her… My mind slips. Like a dream.

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