And here, again my ghost follows.
I’ve run a thousand miles and still it finds me, bound to my very core. The scent of me, of my unhappiness, of my lost purpose, draws it in, and it sits now like a cloud of black lead upon my shoulders.
Friends, I’m writing now to you through tears. I’m writing now to you in torment, in agony, in pain so deep it numbs the bones, and even as the words come forward, one by one they salute the ghost, pledge their allegiances, and they are lost to me. They swear no fealty to my fingers, my heart. To my tongue, they are estranged. It is only the ghost they obey; I fear this time it will plunge me further into the pit, the wreaking lashing violent torrent, and pull at my seams until I am naught but smoke and memories.
How do you survive, at times like these?
How do you have such light?
In greyscale, shadow looks dimmed, blended, but despair is a trickster; so powerful it disguises itself in every moment’s picture––a glazed eye, a flat smile.
The page is blurred for me now; the pen trembles. I am come undone.
There is a pressure. It begins at the fingers; gnawing them to nubs does nothing to relieve the tension, the sensation of weight and weightlessness. The pressure trickles up, into the wrist, the flow, veins pulsing, drawing the heavy vacuum through the arms to the heart, where it slumbers. I fear its awakening; on that day will I too resolve to slumber? Will I resign to sleep forever?
My love, she tires of my self pity. My misery. She must, I know. My ghost tarnishes every smiling moment. “How was your day?” becomes a monotone anthem played on repeat, blaring from speakers a thousand stars away, and echoing.
Echoes. I am stillness echoing loudly.
I am a clock without hands.
It comes in waves from every side. Every short word, every hushed whisper teases, cuts. They see me now for what I really am.
Empty. I am empty.
A vessel. The ghost comes quick to fill the void. But the void will not be filled. It only draws and draws faster, quickening, until the very heartbeat within me pulls the light from every room.
Strike me now with lightning, and longing.
Strike me with hatred and hellos.
Save me, for the wretched ghost comes haunting.
I am yours to kiss, or kill. Yours to pull apart.
I am nothing at all.
And still, I love you. For whatever––however much––that is worth.