Haunted

To be haunted by ghosts are the ghosts of your memories; the type of people who tend to stay in your mind. Forever. Your ghost has a devilish smile. It’s not demonic, but it hints at it. My last remembrance of you is your black hair and soft Mediterranean skin. The reflection of your eyes are dark-brown. The kind of brown that forms the root of my heart making it pump faster and harder and your hair the color of almost the blood-soaked sun hinting highlights of dyed blond. What I cannot understand is why we have to be apart at such a bad time. It’s momentous glimpses like these where I can still recall you. I don’t mind these subliminal glimpses but how I do miss you. Sometimes I wish we never really had to be apart. I love being with you because by making me happy it’s like you put the brightest constellations into the empty recesses of my soul and your love sends bright red roses that bloom in Summer into my life. It is Summer. Almost about the day you left this room. Somehow the ghosts like me to know it when it is dark in the middle of the night. Your ghost haunts me in the room I sleep in. The room you used to sleep in. Shadows eerily creep into the room at night and I pretend not to see your face around the corners of each corridor. I can’t pretend that I haven’t cried since you’ve left. The picture of you echoes out my name. Even in the room I can still feel your lingering presence. I notice that staring at the walls as I sit on the couch do not help as I clutch a fist to my chest; my heartbeat resounding as your heartbeat in the voidless, desolate spaces of the cold, dark room. My destitution despite not looking for you is like looking for a lost child. I feel that I am now searching for something that can never be found. My eyes watery; my tears dripping down like falling constellations. I stand up and go back into the room. My sobs can be heard through the now lifeless doorways of the hall. I slowly suffocate into the bed. The room has come to life and the door is now creaking. Beads of sweat pour down my face into the room. Every gasp coming from deep inside my chest defining my fright in memory of you. I stay up staring into the distance glancing sideways; eyes wide open. She wept tears. They were the kind of tears for that special someone that haunted her at night. in conclusion, she couldn’t tell what kind of tears they were whether they were tears of unequivocal joy, sadness, depression or hatred. She couldn’t understand what kind of tears they were anymore and that left her broken, and cold. She felt pain substantially every night whenever these tears would come, and inasmuch, her stomach lurched of the longing for him to come back to her.