i knew you as a ghost story;
endlessly painful and lingering in my chest phantom fingers pulling at my bones
i wanted to call that feeling ‘home’.
somewhere, what remains of your memory collapses in on itself with the grace of dying stars unraveling the strings of your soul into something forgotten.
a wish whispers dreams of a second chance, (or maybe the third, fourth, fifth chance)
in a life where we are more than just distant memories–
in this long forgotten chapel i raise my arms to the sacellum in sacrifice to beg the gods to bring us together in a kinder world where we don’t die.
this heart beats and stills in equal measure; a pendulum swinging in time with life and death.
around the campfire i listen to you murmur about lifetimes we can’t remember and weave tales of desperate hauntings–
in your words is the mirror i hide from but your voice wraps around me in chains as you drag skeletons out of my closet:
i am no longer sure they are mine.
stories lay heavy on my tongue but you don’t give me time to move, fire flickering in your eyes and the night at your back
you whisper: all ghost stories are tragedies, and we are no exception. you whisper and whisper but my heart is too loud in my ears–
i am a ghost story; please, let me breathe.