The Ghost You said it to me with a sigh, "in every final goodbye, there’s one who never really leaves." And I nodded, the romantic fool I was, thinking of the dancing smoke of a solitary candle whispering my birthday wish to a ghost. Then you twisted the knife, "what’s haunting is that the other actually leaves for good." A decade later, I’m still spinning the same elegy. The room still tilts when I remember the look in your eyes, when you said those words. How your ghostemporary love still stains my walls. How my lamenternal grief still warms your seat. And I nod, the romantic fool I am, knowing one walked out whistling, while the other is spending a lifetime sweeping up the confetti of memories, alone. The cruelty isn’t living with a ghost, it’s that the ghost doesn’t know it’s a ghost. The one who left, left nothing behind. While the one who didn't leave, is left with the weight of a laugh caught in the throat, and the burden of a shadow lingering in every breath. I thought I knew endings, but my gauche ghost turned me into a cemetery where it keeps burying and unearthing, and burying and unearthing itself.
For today's #LetItGo #PromptCombo hosted by the brilliant @thewombwellrainbow.bsky.social, here's my #SetYourIntention to #MyDeclutter of #MyLovedOnes attempt.
