The Devil

by


When I was a child I was convinced that the devil had no name.

 I used to think that he was an entity that was literally everywhere all the time, slipping through everyone in every corner and that was just how it is.
I used to sleep on the left side of my bed and made space for him, just to let him know that he doesn't have to slip through me he can just lie down next to me instead and mind his own business.
I used to pray before every meal just to let him know that I'm famished and protected and totally not alone and he can just go do something else that doesn't involve my female gastro rage that I think is a lot more vicious than what he makes of himself.

 Even when I didn't know any better, I was so sure that whenever your body feels like an uninvited guest is crawling through the depths of your flesh and shivers you down to your spine,
You are supposed to pretend that you're not shaking and really trick yourself into thinking that you can beat this. That you can manage this. That you can take this. That you own this.
When years went by and I had the privilege to learn better, I learned that the devil was not who I thought he was.

 He wasn't an invisible entity that could transform into whatever your mind wants him to become.
He doesn't just die when you strike him down with your faith-based sentences or your mythical gun or your fictional double-edged dagger.
No; The devil did have a name.
He had one so easy to pronounce that it rolled off my tongue instantly the moment I learned what it was.
Its name sounded so familiar, it almost sounded just like yours.

 The devil does not die when he leaves.
He comes in a figure that was so human you almost feel sorry for him you offer him shelter.
The devil leaves a mark so big and visible that he is now much more alive than the last time you left him.
The devil doesn't leave; He stays,
and you become his reflection.
You become his fingerprint.
You become his epilogue.
You become him.