haunted

2012

Could you see then that I was a ghost? The way I would step quietly around your sides, and leave little notes for you on envelopes in drawers. I love the way you organize your shopping cart in Winco. I spoke quietly. I built my feelings out of a language you’ve never heard. I put my ear softly to your heartbeat when your breathing was steady. I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you yawn. I was drawn towards the shadows, fearing that if I stepped into the sunlight you’d be able to see right through me. I love the shape of your arms in that cheap striped gray jacket. I was just a reflection —layers of mirrors and layers of glass— worried that unfiltered, I might blind you. I love being able to tell when you want to be close to me. I protected both of us from my pure, human form. I tried not to leave a trace. I made it easier.

I love you, I love you, I love you, like a lighthouse beacon.  

Now you’re the ghost. Your smile —the exact shape of your lips pulled against your teeth as we sat on the front steps— haunts my thoughts. Your touch —that first moment, at night, when you traced my face with your fingertips— haunts my skin. The look in your eyes —penetrating my mirrors, gazing at me— haunts my dreams.

The worst part of a haunting is that regardless of reason, attitude or understanding, I don’t have a choice. I can't shake you.