Every space is inhabited with ghosts of you. And of the “we” –together- no longer existing. Every walk. Every talk and thought and moment, I hide you well, tuck you into my inner- most being, so outwardly, naturally, it would seem that you are gone.
Every day I walk to school, knowing you’re close.
Sometimes close enough to touch.
And maybe if we touched,
maybe, we would remember and embrace
and never let go.
But I know this won’t happen so it is all just too close for comfort, when, with each passing day, we grow farther and farther apart.
Every day I drive the same streets we drove
around our little world within our big city.
That length of Dravus between our houses, I confess,
I haven’t fully taken since our last happy time together,
the day after Christmas.
I saw your parents two days ago.
I saw your brothers, too,
for the first time since our last happy time together,
the day after Christmas.
I was walking to Eat Local in Queen Anne on Sunday, fully aware that this was bound to happen, when I caught sight of a tan Ford Explorer. Of course, I knew it was your family’s, how could I not?
We borrowed it for most of our dates, since neither of us had cars.
We road- tripped to that one festival in it, just the two of us, talking and healing and rekindling.
We put the back seats down so we could camp in it, since we didn’t have a tent.
In it we shared our second- first kiss.
We drove around our city, chasing sunsets and moments, listening to our favorite radio station, making memories and planning the next ones to be made.
We drove to a park in Queen Anne, nearly five weeks ago, and broke up.
We took our last drive, awkward and confined, from that park back to campus.
I wave and keep walking, flooded with these memories; but that tan Ford Explorer lurches to the side of the road and rolls down its windows to remind and taunt me of these things I no longer have.
Your dad smiles, Jake smiles, Danny stares, and mom grabs my hand and smiles. I smile. We exchange pleasantries and updates and sadness we all seem to be carrying.
You’re the only one missing, but the ghost
of you and our moments distracts me
and I’m afraid I’m starting to lose it
so I make some comment,
about the Super Bowl I think,
and we say goodbye,
and they drive off,
Also becoming ghosts
And I am alone and haunted.
Your ghost shadows me around the grocery store
where we would buy produce for your dad’s stir- fry
and ice cream for your mom’s sadness.
Even the sounds of the trains on their tracks,
going wherever they go,
are constant reminders of who you were to me.
And they are so constant, I swear.
Then there are the ghosts of lovers under these covers that I now lie alone in at night, waiting and waiting for sleep to rescue me to the land of dreams where maybe, just maybe I can escape the sadness of it all.
I think I have more to write, but I don’t have the energy to anymore. I feel sad and lonely and awkward and I think I’m getting sick. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.