You Ghosted Me

For B.

How can you be a ghost, missing

from a place where you never really were?

A woman last week lost her husband, murdered.

Now she’s left only with the ghost of memories.

He’s gone, truly gone, stolen away from her.

And now he can only see her

at night in her dreams. He visits and talks to her,

listens while showering kisses

and she knows that he’ll never let go.

And yet

the ghost of her love is less ghost

than you are to me. Yes, you’re gone.

But how can you leave a place that you never

even bothered to unpack your stuff in?

You never unpacked your emotions, never unpacked

your love, never unpacked your commitment to me.

You left your bags in the car,

knowing you would one day leave me. And

you fucked me.

Fucked my mind.

Fucked my heart.

Fucked my body.

You fucked my thoughts,

busted them wide open

so you could get lost inside,

swimming in them

until you were ready to be found.

I should’ve told you

I wasn’t looking for someone

to be unhappy with.

It’s too late now ‘cause

you’re gone.

You don’t exist anymore.

You just stopped existing for me.

But that doesn’t make you a ghost.

Ghosts once lived and

you never lived in me.

You only filled me up

then left me empty.

So, while I’m wondering how

a ghost can ever breathe again,

she knows that true love

will never leave. Sadly,

that knowledge wasn’t enough.

She took her own life

so she could continue

loving the man who

became a ghost in her memories

knowing that would never be enough.

Love doesn’t exist only in her dreams

anymore. But, for me, it seems

that’s the only place love will ever exist.