- Kathrin Merritt
- Sep 15, 2024
- 1 min read
Last night I dreamed I was the girl in the woods that winter morning in Athens by the lake. I ran instinctually for survival. My feet hit the pavement harder and harder 'till the flesh began dissolving from my thighs and my chest melted down to a childlike state. It was in that moment, that ferociously pounding instant, I realized not the disintegrating fats but the absence of muscle. How I'd forgotten to hone the bands that move me toward the masculine. Still harder and harder my feet implored me to meet the solid, unforgiving earth to evade that sly, cunning smile reaching up behind me.
I woke up.
My heart rate beating at a state expected for maintaining homeostasis.
My eyes opened.
I laid there.
Not in fear of what I'd witnessed nor relieved to have left it behind with the night. The state between dream and consiousness mattered not in the slightest because I'm not sure on what side I immerged into, and quite frankly, I'm not sure it matters. I am the girl in the woods. We are all the girl in the woods.