To Whom It
For that is, in fact, who you have become. Of your own accord.
Communications between us once flowed like glacial melt, trickling from under layers of hard-packed experience, each drop pouring into twin streams of desire that merged into a swell of undeniable force. Swirling in whirpools through cut-canyon past pains, surging through rock-strewn eddies, tumbling over sharp cliff faces of mutual fears; your words teemed when mine poured. We rose in torrent and slid against one another, crashing from uncontrollable currents into the calm smooth-glass surfaces we labored to create.
I let you in.
I showed you things – pieces of me I’d never before revealed, parts of you you’d not previously uncovered – and found joy even through the pain of doing so because I was doing it with you. It was worth it to me. You were worth it to me.
And then one day you were gone.
No explanation. No apology.
Disappeared without a trace.
You became a ghost.
And I can’t help but wonder…
Are you haunted?
In the night, when you turn in your sleep, does the spectral impression of my lips against your back sear your shoulder blades? Do you wake with a sharp intake of breath, having felt the semblance of my figure wrapping around your body, my breasts pressing against your ribs, my thighs molded to yours? Can you feel my cheek nuzzling that place – my place, between your neck and your shoulder – in the small hours between deep sleep and dawn?
When you sit down at your table to eat, do you steal glances at the seat I once occupied? Do your eyes land on the rounded smooth surface that last held my plate, or does your gaze get caught on the way down by the vision of the smile I used to give you?
Does your hand still reach for my thigh when you’re driving alone?
It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters any more. Not what we had, not who we were, together. You took all the importance out of our togetherness when you chose to walk away, alone.
Funny how ‘alone’ was the one thing you were most terrified of being. Maybe one day you’ll stop being afraid long enough not to be.
I’ve long ago stopped clinging to your shadows. But I can’t help but wonder…
How long will your inability to say goodbye keep you clinging to mine?
Yours (not anymore),
She has exorcised his ghost.
Once upon a time he felt like home.
Now the once-strong abode in which they found solace is naught but the skeletal structure of an abandoned house.