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Ghosts are sadness and regret. Our hearts bleed as much as the living.
Show me the gashes in your flesh that remain fresh.
And he, this beautiful, ruinous man, says, “I cannot rid you from my mind, Ophelia. It’s as if you’ve instilled an illness of your own into me. You are the sole thought that ravages my mind as I lie awake at night. The ceilings make me think of you. The forest. Roses. Breathing—I cannot take breath without you eroding my sanity.”
No one lives your life except you.
“We are the light.”
“I’m not afraid of your darkness, Ophelia. We are the light.”
An endless night brings upon the dawn.
