Do ghosts get tired of haunting? Of chasing old flames in darkness, of walking through dreams casting shadows against walls, against hearts, do they feel themselves forgotten?
There were still embers scattered around me from the bridges I have burned. I wonder if they can feel it too. The space between us lingering like a scarlet letter, I’m learning how to love again.
When the leaves begin to fall, I find myself returning to old playlists in hopes that I can feel you holding my hand, or kissing me goodnight, or hear you singing my name into songs and blueing when it makes no sense.
