my favorite ghost

His hands,

are your hands

If only in my mind

Their touch, 

if I forget,

if I close my eyes,

if I pretend,

it could be yours.

Almost.

I’d not forgotten you,

and I don’t hate you,

as you seem to think.

In fact, 

quite the opposite. 

I miss you, 

and I love you.

He’s not you.

But I was scared,

so I killed this bond,

before it could grow,

and hurt me.

Now you’re gone, 

a murmur of

a rainy Saturday

in June.

You are gone.

You are not here.

You are not mine.

I don’t pretend you are.

I must forget this.

It was my choice.

But the problem is,

I can’t.

I can’t forget the ghost,

that lingers on during the 

end of that song

or turn away from 

once inviting curbs.

You are my demon,

my haunt that won’t leave me.

But please,

don’t leave me.

You are my favorite 

ghost.

~molly c.