A Haunting


Oh how you haunt me. How every memory replays in my head so I can’t sleep. I even play your own memories that I have never witnessed, but only know by the words escaped between your lips. I miss those lips. Those chapped lips meeting mine is the feeling I will always remember, for it was the last thing I felt of you. My hands shake, empty of anything to hold except hope, an invisible, intangible concept. For the first time, I feel us as two separate people. You, the queen of New Jerusalem, and I, King of Babylon. Oh how I wish to blur the lines again, and be the center of the world, to blur the lines of good and evil, mortal and immortal.

I am not completely threatened by someone who could take your heart as I have. I am threatened, also, by my own self. I am scared of the notion that I am not strong enough to last weeks without talking to you. Weeks seem endless, days seem to take years, and I only grow older with the oppressive weight of the decisions I should have made. It’s not healthy, nor is it okay. But it is normal, only till I have the capacity and motivation of moving out of my own head. I am a creature of habit, and knowing you are not within my reach, of my protection, snaps the habit of making sure you are okay. I am well aware you can take care of yourself, I have never once doubted that, even when we were together. But I will say what you have always told me, I simply do not trust other people with you. I know you, I see you, and I love you, and God forbid someone doesn’t take care of the girl you are so capable of being.

I sleep at night, feeling restless, unable to quiet the plaguing thoughts breaking out, with no cure but the hush sound of your voice, of your fingers combing my hair while I lie in your lap. I remember the picture you took, of you and I in the back seat of my mom’s car. My head in your lap, and your hand resting upon my head. I miss your comfort, the sweet smell of your skin kissing my nose and then my mind. I am calm, I am okay. And your very presence organizes the mess of my head.

I hope to see you soon my Chuck. The feeling of your chapped lips, and the feeling of your heart bet resting on mine. We squeeze each other with frustration of not being close enough till we are satisfied and laugh and smile. I am not close enough, we are not close enough. I wish to see you smile and giggle again. To hear your voice. To hear your laugh. I shall be here, and I shall grow strong, for every ghost needs a host to cling on to.

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