Giving up the ghost
Going through closets and cupboards. Pulling out the ghosts, packing them a lunch and telling them to get the hell out. There are whispers and clues all over the place.
A letter dated December 22nd, 2005. So I knew even back then, huh? I wish I’d let myself in on that particular secret.
An old cell phone tucked into a box under my bed, with the charger housed ominously close. After 2 hours of idle time I search its contents and find her number. Home or cell, I have both. But she doesn’t walk those hallways anymore. She won’t answer that call.
I remember her dressed in red. So much shorter than me. I remember, too, the curves of her wearing nothing at all. Miles of her. Brown and quiet and lovely.
Who decides what goes and what stays? I suppose it’s up to me, so I throw it all away. Burning bridges has never felt so good. I refuse to accept that nostalgia is more precious than the here and now. What has happened is over and I let its memories fade like taillights disappearing in the distance.
I will discover new places and forget your face like a language I just never used enough.
4 years ago • Notes