Monday

Sometimes I wonder if you did indeed become a ghost. When I describe you to people, and I describe your transition out of my life, I describe you as a ghost. You came home at midnight, every night, in those last two weeks. I didn’t hear the door open, you came in through a wall. You didn’t say a word to me or even look at me when you came home. You walked past me, two feet away, as I laid on the cot I had set up in the living room. You grabbed an insipid, craftless meal from the kitchen. You walked back to the bedroom, and you closed the door. Sometimes, when you came in, I did what I did as a child when I thought there was a ghost around. I laid still and squeezed my eyelids together as tightly as I could.

I believe that once I walked right through a real ghost. I told you the story, several times probably. Have you met that ghost in your ghostly interactions? Do you remember thay story? My coworkers from the restaurant and I ran around that 230 year old house all night, and we were all drunk. We were exploring and laughing and popping out and scaring each other. Nobody reported any ghost encounters at first, and people got tired and began to go home. In the end it was just a waitress named April and me. We were in the attic, and she was watching me walk around. Suddenly I froze. I felt a sensation like none I had ever felt before. It was hot and cold at the same time. Goosebumps popped up all over my skin. There was a weird, foreign energy that passed through me. I don’t think I ever told you what April and I did after that.

It often feels like a ghost might be watching. It’s never at a time that I would expect. It’s never at a time when I would actually need a ghost. Ghosts aren’t supposed to be ‘reliable’ I guess. They just are. Or they aren’t.

I have many theories about ghosts. Ghosts watch you when you are with your lovers. Ghosts can travel back through time and watch you with your past lovers. Ghosts can even see themselves during the time that they were with you, when they were still in a physical body.

Everybody has a ghost story. You had your ghostly photo with that strange blur of light. The light blur had a human form. I can’t remember now whether that ghost was somebody you knew, or if it was just a random ghost stranger . . . just moving through . . . a clumsy tourist, accidentally caught in somebody else’s photo.

Ghost by Neutral Milk Hotel on Grooveshark

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