Ghost

It's been six months since you fucked right off. A very long six months.

It would be hard if I knew you were telling the truth. And I don't know that. Making it much harder.

Apparently, my missing you has reached some kind of peak, possibly an event horizon, and now I'm dreaming of you. Specifically you. Specifically uninterested. Much less enjoyable than the vague, warm, summery dreams, the ones where I get what I want, your hands on my body, around my heart, and just as gentle with the second as the first.

Limerance is a bitch. The way my system slowly rejects it, once the fire is no longer being fanned, is even worse. And what the fuck am I going to do if you come back? Talking with you makes me happy. We've already established boundaries, you're used to my goddamn swearing, I'm used to the shared sense of humor and lack of boundaries I personally find ridiculous. I don't know that I can keep myself from talking to you, even if it's better for me. I probably can, at this point. I've changed so fast, I really don't know. But making myself do so will also hurt. And then I'll be minus another friend, another ear, another source of decent advice.

And that's if you fucking come back. It seems unlikely you will, right now, although it's possible you will today. If you don't.. I don't know. I don't fucking know. I don't like letting go of massive opportunities to be happy. But I could be fooling myself anyway.

I really don't want you to slip into my past, randomly popping up in dreams to ruin my day. I don't want you to be a lesson. You're too fucking valuable. Too rare. I can barely talk to most of the people I find interesting, for fuck's sake. And if that weren't the case, you'd still be too rare.

I'm so tired of learning lessons.

I want to reach out and touch you but you're not really here, you're not in this place.

I can see and communicate with ghosts/spirits/whatever-you-feel-like-calling-them. I'm quite good at it and have been doing it for over a decade. My problem lies with the fact that here recently I've been starting to wonder if I'm really doing these things or if I'm just crazy. I doubt I'm crazy. But it hurts me to be wondering if I am.

I know that a rational person would have gotten over the loss of a loved one by now, but it's always been like my brother was the ghost of my future self, and that I was the ghost of someone who was already killed years ago. It's like trying to ignore your image in the mirror when you've never seen yourself before.

I died along with him, and my perspective on life, the world, and my own existence were irreparably altered. But since then, I've led a fantastic life as a ghost.

I've written more on this subject at brother, irony, pain, violence, and vigilante.

When I tell people that I can see ghosts, they look at me like I should be committed.
But I look at them the same way when they try to justify organized religion to me.

Let me see my damn ghosts, and I won't laugh at your Bible!

I recently found some quotes saved from a friend who I now know is dead.

It's a weird feeling.