A Ghost Story

I stare blankly at the walls of my bedroom, waiting. I am expecting a guest of sorts, one that has been lingering by my door for ages. He has been waiting for this moment, one where I am too tired to fight his entry. I shake and sweat, knowing I cannot hold this meeting off any longer. He beckons me, calling out my name in ways I had not perceived until this very moment. I scrambled to get up, unable to move the gaze of my tired eyes. The door slowly creaked open, as he stumbled in the frame, barely holding it together.

He was gray, and always had been. The man’s stature was one of dissonance, harsh corners of bones holding up his falling skin. He had chaos in his eyes, but relief on his face. 

“I have been waiting for you to answer,” he calls out to me. Unable to meet his eyeline, I mutter a small sigh, as I feel the tears forming at the corners of my eyes. I have always hated this feeling, the burning sensation in my nose when overwhelmed and overthinking. I cannot control it. The tears stream down my cheeks, but I make no sound. “Why have you ignored me all this time?” he lets out in a cry. The man drops to his knees and repeats his thoughts. I am disgusted.

 I have nothing to say to this man. He is an old friend, a foe, a danger. He is harmful and neglectful. He was everything to me at one point or another, but we fell apart and went our separate ways. His ghost haunts me, taunting every move I make. He is the back of my head, the hand on my shoulder. I remain in my position, giving no emotions away, except those that cannot be controlled. Although there are tears, I will remain strong against him, as he cannot take anything more, if there is nothing left. 

The man continues his thought process out loud, but all I can interpret is the warmth of his voice. It is distasteful, how a voice can stay the same, even in a rotting body. Sound is a funny thing, both intrusive and safe. Why does he think I have to sit here and listen to this? Why does he think he is important enough to talk this much? I stood from my spot and finally moved my eyes from the wall. I glanced at his face, catching a glimpse of everything I once knew. But I digress. He might be everything I want and more, but who am I to think either of us deserves that?

I manually moved my feet, one in front of the other, walking towards the door the man had just entered. I exited the room and gathered my consciousness. All I can think of is to remain calm. I am so tired. Each step aches as my bones crack and groan. They seem to scream with each movement, unable to handle the chaos. My muscles are petrified and rotting as I go. I entered the fresh morning air and headed towards the street. He follows. 

“What have you done?” he says, inquiring vaguely at my body. I try to keep my bones in place as he catches up to me. We walk in silence. I refuse to answer, and he knows this. He knows what I have done, as he has seen it first hand. I want to beg and cry to him, bleeding from my cheeks and nose. I want to be held and comforted in his arms. I long to be with him, but know I cannot. I take it too far. He reaches out to touch my shoulder as I shudder in the dark morning air. He used to always laugh when I would flinch, calling out the safety and warmth that could be provided. This time he paused, confused at my reaction. I have always had an issue trusting anyone’s warmth, as it usually spins out into emptiness. I no longer want to have it, even if it is the core of being. My body tells me it needs safety, but I cannot actively let myself fall back into old reliefs. So, we continue our walk, looking to the stars above. 

“I have many regrets,” he begins. I immediately let out a quiet sob, but continue my pace. I cannot handle the voice in my head, nor the voice outside it. His words cut deep and slice into my organs. I want to fall apart, collapse on the ground. But I know better than this. I am not the person he thinks I am. He continues to blabber on, but I am not really tuning in. I feel like I have had this conversation before, a certain deja vu pertains to the situation. I catch a few words, “why”, “could’ve”, “maybe”… he is reaching and grasping for my attention. I give none, mostly because I am exhausted. These words repeat in my head, as I go down this road so often. What could have been if this and that. The what ifs and the odds building against my thoughts. Regrets are nothing more than a sliver of grief. They mean nothing with no action behind it. He does not seem to understand this. I want to stop and scream at him to shut his lips. He does not understand grief. He lingers forever, never letting go of what once was. He is my imagination while sleeping, my thoughts while staring unknowingly. Nothing more. 

The ghostly figure persistently chats, bringing me in and out of reality. Occasionally catching a glimpse of blue from his face, I staggered on, as my body cried for rest. Eventually I need to sit, so I begin to look for a bench. Perhaps the park across the street will suffice. I will just have to face the man, as he is, in this present moment. I hate the present, as I usually spend my time in the past. He represents this past to me, lingering for eternity and never moving on. I almost want to pity him and cry alongside. But I cannot, I am so tired. A bench. I limp over to the cool, wooden surface and situate myself at the very end, gasping for air. My veins ache as I take deep, meaningless breaths. The man pauses his incoherent thoughts and promptly stands above me. 

“I am sorry,” I mutter, as he looks at me with pity. I say nothing more, because he knows what I want to say. He knows I have been killing my boundaries trying to find the chance. My courage has taken a tumultuous toll on my identity, prying at my insides and eating at my brain. He can finally see it, for what it is. A disease. A sickening aspect of life that halts one from continuing on. A body that cannot perceive the mind. My glossy cheeks are reflecting blue, as are his. 

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, with no meaning behind it. These words end me. I spiral into black and cannot see any longer. The fake tone of his voice gnaws at my face, burning my skin. I do not know how to answer. Of course I want him to stay, in more ways than he can conceptualize. But I have to let him go, as I am nothing. I have destroyed what is left of me, and he cannot stay, for his own well being. He begins to shift his gaze, back to the stars above. I so desperately want to see the stars. I am too tired to lift my head, too tired to make out anything in my direction. Do you want me to stay? I run over his question as much as one can, but time is running out. He needs an answer, he has a want. He wants to leave, he wants to step away from my doorstep. I need him though, as I did not realize before. I left him behind for years, but now cannot turn back. I waited too long, I took it too far. Overwhelmed and succumbed, I let him leave. It is for everyone’s good. The ghostly shimmer of relief begins his walk back the way he came, leaving me alone on the bench, once and for all.