Ghosts of heavy eyelids that don't want to close even at 4 a.m., the night after submission, ghosts of white protruding teeth from between the lips, ghosts of those lips, and ghosts of you. Ghosts of dust bunnies that stuck to the corners of your room, ghosts of the mop that killed them, ghosts of your wrists twisting and contorting, and ghosts of you, murderer.
Ghosts of your hair lost and stranded on my bag. Ghosts of your stares when I look away. Ghosts of the silence after your dragging footsteps. Ghosts of the door closing behind you, before you, through you.
Ghosts of not talking. Ghosts of the wait. Ghosts of the remorse that comes with the wait. Ghosts of never wanting to admit it. Ghosts of the absence of courage to want to admit it. Ghosts of the absence of you, and ghosts of you.