Ghosts
I fucking hate ghosts.
Not, mind you, the dubious sort of spirit left behind by those who have shuffled off this mortal coil, but rather the memories and vibrations left behind by someone or something special that has been lost. The sort of ghost that is hard to escape because it has attached itself to a place or a habit that was once a haven, but that you now share with someone you miss.
Even this desk holds ghosts for me now. Ghosts that make me want to look back instead of forward. Ghosts that whisper, over and over, of what I got wrong, and of how I failed, and of how I came up short. Ghosts that only want to talk about what might have been.
Fuck, but I hate those ghosts. I hate them, and they are everywhere.
Not Yet
She showed up this morning before I had even lifted my head from the pillow.
I thought you were gone, I said.
Not yet, she replied. I’m not done with you.
She appeared again when I found myself expecting my phone to ring as I drank my second cup of coffee.
You’re still here, I said.
Yes, she replied. You haven’t forgotten everything yet.
She came round once more as I unpacked my lunch, and again as I sat alone to read, and again as a heron flew by overhead as I sat outdoors at dinner time.
You can go anytime, I offered as I readied for bed. Really, I’ll be fine.
No, she said as she crawled naked between my sheets. I said I’m not done with you. Not yet, anyway.
UGH
I’m old, the days are slipping away more quickly than ever, and I’m not getting any closer to the things I crave the most. I suppose there is a story here, had I only the imagination and talent to pull one together.
Time Machine
I pulled a favorite book of mine down off the shelf earlier today; one that I hadn’t looked at in a while. I wandered out to the patio and sat down at the wrought-iron table, letting the book fall open somewhere near the middle. That’s where I found something more than I had bargained for: a longish, single blonde-red curl lay across the page, just waiting for a June breeze to set it adrift. I wasn’t expecting to have that book to let go of a ghost. I wasn’t expecting that book to remind me of what all has been lost in the past few months. I wasn’t expecting an old book to remind me of you. And I damn well wasn’t expecting a book to send my sanity off on the wind.
Firefly
What’s that in your hand? she asked.
What? Oh, it’s only just a firefly, I said.
Why do you always do that? she fumed. Why to you have to catch and hold on to everything? Why do you have to own everything? It’s stupid. You’re only going to crush it. Jesus Christ. Why the fuck can’t you just let it be what it is?
I know, I know, I said. I’m trying.
I’m trying.
Exiled
There is a small lunch place in a town nearby, a diner that he can’t visit anymore. He used to love the three-egg omelette they made, all full of cheese and onions and fresh spinach. The coffee was always good, the tables were always clean, and the waitresses always kept your mug topped off. Sure, it was a bit of a ride, but the food was good, and it was well worth the trip.
But that was before. Before he ever noticed how the youngest waitress always seemed to go out of her way for him, and how she would always ask how his day was going. Before he ever noticed how sometimes a piece of his favorite cheesecake got added his lunch order without it ever showing up on his tab. That was before she kissed his cheek before she left for a trip overseas, and before she was so excited to tell him all about Vienna when she got back. More importantly, that was before he impulsively left a note with his phone number tucked underneath the five-dollar bill that he always left on the table as her tip, and before he never ever got that phone call he had impulsively wished for. Before he was mortified by his own impulsive actions, and what he had done to his favorite waitress.
And now he can never ever ever go back.
No matter how much he’d like one of those omelettes with all the cheese and spinach and the onions.
If Only
If only I had only known, then I wouldn’t have slept that night. I would have stayed wide-eyed awake beside you, I would have held you in my arms, felt you breathe, memorized the curl and scent of your hair, studied the curves of your body. Fuck, I would have done anything but sleep.
If only I had known, then I wouldn’t have let you fall asleep, either. I would have kept telling you funny jokes, kept acting like a big goof just so I could hear that giggle of yours one more time. I would have spent the night studying your eyes, your smile, your freckles; all those little things about you that mesmerized me so.
If only I had known, I wouldn’t have crawled out of bed to watch the television news that morning; I would have stayed there beside you, watching you as the sun crept across your face. I would have made certain that my smile was the very first thing you spotted through sleepy eyes, and that my kiss was the very first thing that crossed your lips.
I would have done so many things differently.
I would have made your coffee, fixed your breakfast; I would have made certain you had fresh flowers for that yellow vase on your dining room table.
If only I had known, I would have at least kissed you goodbye.
