I don't want you to stop haunting me

It took me a while to realize I was dead, not dreaming. Have you ever had a dream where you dragged yourself out of bed, brushed your teeth, got dressed for work, and then woke up and realized you were actually still in your bed?

It was kind of like that, except that I realized my body was still in my bed, but I wasn't.

I was scared, but also relieved. I've always feared death like nothing else. I've dreaded it since I found out about it. I was terrified to stop existing. But it wasn’t as bad as I feared. I’m not alive, but I still exist! I still have thoughts, and a mind, and a ghostly form.

I can't interact with anything or anyone. My roommates can't see me. They found my body, and it was awful. I was worried at first that once they realized I was dead, I would die for real. Stop existing. But they called 911, and people came and pronounced me dead, and I kept on existing.

I watched my roommate cry over my dead body. She had no idea I was still there, watching. I watched my parents come get me. They seemed more dead than I felt.

I followed them home. The cold silences, the parade of casseroles, visits from neighbors. I watched it all. The funeral. All my friends, family members, old teachers, people who I don't remember meeting.

You weren't there. I looked for you. I waited to see you arrive. You didn't come.

That's why I'm here now. I'm sorry if I'm creeping you out and ruining your plans for Halloween. But I still need to talk to you about last Halloween. When we were still friends. And then the next day when weren't.

Do you care? Do you remember? I waited for you to call, to reach out, to say something. I saw you on every street corner. Every girl with short dark hair would spook me. I've been dying to talk to you, to see you, for months.

I know I hurt you, but I always hoped that you missed me too. I can't believe you let all this time go by without trying to reach me. I know I didn't reach out either, but you have no idea how many letters I wrote without sending. How many times I asked people about you, scrolled through your profiles that you never update, desperate for news. I miss you. I'm dead and I still miss you.

Nothing matters anymore and I still miss you.

You can't hear me can you? You're in your room, getting ready for a party, putting on massive fake eyelashes for your costume. You look great. I can't tell who you're supposed to be, but I bet it's a clever reference to some funny show I haven’t seen.

I wish you would look at me.

It's so good to see you. But so painful. You're so beautiful. I'm sorry that I started to hate you so much that I hurt you.

One thing that sucks about being dead is I can't look at my phone anymore. I used to scroll back to October to read our messages. The things we wrote when we still loved each other.

Once, I scrolled back in time, to 2017, all the way to our very first texts. I was so desperate to be your friend. I tried so hard to not show it. Slowly our texts went from formal and polite to funny and rude, streams of consciousness, to loving and fighting. I never fight with anyone, but I fought with you. Now that I’m dead, I think I have some perspective on why.

I think it's because I loved you so much that you felt like a part of me. And I was never that kind to myself either.

Oh, you're going to Welsh street? That's the party we went to last year. I was a pirate and you were a mermaid. We drank an entire bottle of wine on the walk over. You're walking now with some people I've never met. I'm jealous of your new friends. I'm angry that you're happy without me. You're laughing at inside jokes that I've never heard.

This party was more fun last year. Well, until the end, when you yelled at me and I said you were a terrible friend and a bad person. And we never spoke again.

How did you feel the next day? I was so angry, but I also felt numb. To be angry at you was like being angry at myself. So I just to stay numb and wait for you to call and apologize, but you never did. And I never did either.

Did you care? Did you talk about me to your new friends? Tell them how I hurt you?

You're laughing and taking shots with Mario and Buzz Lightyear. You look happy, and I can't help but smile. I've missed you so much. Sometimes I loved you more when I was watching you from a distance. I wanted you to love me, and you did.

The party is still going, but you're walking outside, alone, with your bag. I know this move- you've got another party to get to, right? I've never felt cooler than when we were party hopping together, charming everyone we met. I liked when people thought we were together. I liked that they could tell we were a package deal.

Why are you walking back to your apartment already? It's only 11, the night is still young.

Is it me? Am I bothering you? Ruining your night? Can you tell I'm here with you?

You're taking off your make up, getting ready for bed. I guess I should leave, but I don't want to yet. I look through your kitchen while you get dressed for bed. You still have that fancy bottle of tequila that your horrible boss got you. But you took down the drawing of us that I taped to your fridge.

I don't know why I'm shocked. It's been a year, and you hated my guts at the end. Why would you still have it up?

I never deleted you from my phone. I kept all your letters, and gifts, except one.  

Now you're making tea, and you look comfortable, but tired. And you’re... wearing my sweater. The sweater I gave you for your birthday.

You don't hate me? Or do you just not remember that I gave it to you?

I'm sorry for following you around all night. Now you're in bed, and I know I should leave, but you're looking at your phone, and I want to see who you're texting.

You're scrolling through, and you're back in June now, December, now October. You click on my name. There's my last message to you. I need time to think, I said. And then I never said anything again.

You start typing.

I'm sorry. I miss you. I wish you were here.

You delete the message. And I stop existing.