The Ghostwriter

by A.R. Torre

Funny what you find out about people when they leave you. Or when your mind stops making excuses for all of their clues.

I hate Simon with my entire soul, and I love him with every other inch of my body, and neither really matters because he is dead, and I killed him.

If I want grief, I can just open up a photo album, or visit the cemetery.

It makes no sense, yet still, the happiness is there.

That is how life is, it gives us burdens to carry and doesn’t give a damn about the weight. We shoulder it or we break.