Almost

There she was. She came back home early again that day. I greeted her at the front door, but I was ignored like every other day. My only wish was for her to look at me. Even once. Even for a second. That was all that I wanted.

           She walked past me and threw herself onto my—hers now—couch. I sat next to her, but she didn’t care. She closed her eyes, her breath slow. Her face was now free from all stress from work, calm and relaxed like a refreshing end to the day.

           She was beautiful; she truly was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Her skin was so white like the mellow snow, blanketing the shivering blades of grass in a winter warmth. Roses bloomed underneath that snow in her cheeks, petals soft enough to touch like the thorns completely disappeared.

           Her eyes were snowflakes, gracefully forming water into beautiful crystals. They were blurred and blue like a lake frozen over from the winter chill. And, her hair, my favorite, cascaded down her small shoulders like midnight flooding into the day, taking over all of the light. It was like ink staining a silk canvas. But, those lips, painted thickly with a passionate, bright red, lured me, beckoned me, tempted me with her ways. They pulled in me closer and closer to hers. If only I could feel once more.

           “God! You’re too close,” she said, her voice frightening me in the silence. All of a sudden, my heart jumped with excitement and fear and anxiety and eagerness.

           “You can see me?” I asked.

           “How can I not with you staring at me like that every day? Have you ever heard of privacy?” She rolled over on her side, and she crouched into the cushion, shifting into a more comfortable position. “You have to follow me into the bathroom, too? Are you perhaps…a pervert?”

           My face burned, burned, burned. “No! No, it’s not like that at all! I never looked at you either.”

           “What are you anyway?” She turned to face me. I knew I was blushing. “A fragment of my imagination? An unmotivated burglar? Or are you just a teenager in the neighborhood that wants to rebel and run away from home?”

Even I didn’t know exactly what I was or why I still wandered about this world. In this vast world, full of time and space, there comes a moment in life where the minutes—the seconds suddenly freeze. A moment where time stops, and I was left there with my own presence and my own thoughts. Those thoughts, dark and cloudy. I was falling and falling in a never-ending void; it never stopped, so that’s why I was still in this house even after my life came to an end.

I sighed. “I wish I knew, Darcy. I died years and years and years ago, but I never passed away. I’ve just been stuck here in my house by myself, wondering why I never left, wondering why I’m still here while no one else is.”

She was silent, shocked, surprised at my words. She sat there next to me, her face shifting from curiosity to sudden grief like she couldn’t handle the fact that I died here. Before, to her I was just a stranger that followed her around her house in silence, but now, I was a ghost that never left her alone, haunting her each day, each minute, each second. That reality confused her—maybe even scared her. I wanted to ease the tension even if it was just a little.

Unexpectedly calm, I told her, “I think I’m in love with you.”

She stared blankly back at me. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

“No listen, Darcy. I’m being really sincere.”

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” she said, finally accepting me as what I was, her deceived eyes slowly shifting back to her regular self. “How old are you anyway?”

“The name’s Peter, and I died when I was seventeen, but I can’t remember how no matter how hard I try. It was like all of my memories were erased.”

Darcy stared into my eyes beside me, her words stuck in her throat, choking her. “I’m sorry.”

That hurt me. All I wanted was for her to be happy and nothing else besides that. My greatest joy was just seeing the slightest smile on her face, yet I was the one that made her like this. I was the one that made her sad, and that hurt.

“Please don’t be,” I said, trying to console her. “I don’t care at all that I died because you walked through my door. You are literally everything to me.”

Her soul was like the setting sun. I observed it every single day. It was like I could see her aura around her. It was serene, calm, peaceful, beautiful. It was like a slow picture of color. A painting of nature—of passion and love. A blend of night and day. Warm and cold. Her heart was soft like the last light of the day, slowly descending down, down, down. It was too hard to bear to be without her radiance that guided me. It was painful to wait for that sun to rise again. Please, oh please, my dear sun, do not set again.

“Maybe that’s the reason you’re still here,” she said quietly. “You’re too attached to this world—to me, and maybe that’s why you won’t pass. You should forget about me.”

My heart felt heavy like the truth attacked its strings. I couldn’t forget about her. I wouldn’t. She was my everything. She was everything that I thought about day and night. Even as she fell into a deep slumber, I would watch the house, making sure no harm would come to her. It wasn’t like I could do anything, but I wanted to protect her. She was my treasure, my gold, my everything.

I reached out to her, but my reality was nothing but emptiness. My limbs go right through her body. What a fool I was to think that a ghost and a human could ever be together. It’s physically impossible. I was a mistake, a slip in a supernatural phenomenon, and I didn’t even belong in this world anymore. The red string that I thought was wrapped around our fingers was snipped right before my eyes. Our fate that I thought was drawn out right in front of me was now erased into a blank canvas. Our worlds were too different to ever align with one another. It was a shame.

It hurts.

There’s pain.

More pain than I could ever imagine.

To long for the one thing in life that I can never ever have,

It hurts.

My body is flawless.

Scarless.

Beautiful.

Pure.

Untouched.

That’s why it hurts.

It’s a dreadful thing.

Love, that is.

The worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Love, that is.

The most painful thing for me.

Love, that is.

My desire and lust cannot be controlled.

Therefore, my heart must suffer alone

Without spark, emotions,

Touch.

A slight touch is all that I ask for.

Skin against skin.

The feeling of warmth.

The rush of adrenaline throughout my still blood.

The chills that would climb up my arms.

A touch.

To connect.

To feel.

To love.

A suffocating love.

A non-existent love.

An unimaginable love.

A hopeful love.

Eventually.

Almost,

The word that I hate the most.

A word with much sadness.

A word with no end.

Almost.

A want so close yet never achieved.

The saddest type of love.

Almost in love.

And I vanished.