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.