Ghost Town

Take me out of this ghost town. Take me somewhere without memories.

He said he’d see me on Monday. That Monday never came, and I’m still waiting for it. I don’t think it will ever come. Maybe that’s why my bones feel heavier on Monday mornings, and why I find it more difficult to get out if bed with every passing week.

She said we’d be friends forever. She taught me that people don’t necassarily lie. They just change their minds.

He taught me how to wallow in my own self pity (I had plenty of it) and then left me alone in it. When he left me, I fell into a dark hole. I’ve finally climbed back out, but I haven’t filled it back in. Someday, I hope to forgive you and mean it, and bury the memories you left me. I’ll mark it with a headstone that says ‘Here Lies My First Mistake’.

He was there when I sought comfort, but I didn’t know how to be there when he asked for the same in return. I can still feel his eyes staring at me in disappointment. I don’t want him to look at me like that anymore. Maybe I was his first mistake.

The way his hand fit around mine made me smile, and I constantly wanted his warmth. But when thoughts clouded my mind, and I asked him for space, he left me in the cold.

At summer camp, I broke his sunglasses. I apolpolgized constantly, but still felt bad. I still do. It really is silly of me. Dead boys don’t need sunglasses.

He was new and exciting, quiet and stern. He held my hand and led me through the crowds, me dizzy and laughing. It became a constant game of acknowledgement a d ignoring, stolen glances and silent conversations. In the dark, he held my hand, and I could see his smile behind the shadows. In the dark, I saw him break, and it became my turn to comfort someone else for a change. Somehow I never realized that we only had our moments in the dark, and love cannot be hidden. His friendship in the light became more meaningful.

The first place she made me cry in all those years ago became the same place where we would cry together as best friends. Too bad she’s the one crying now. Even if I wanted to cry, she would be oblivious, and I would be alone. At least she is free to live her life. I’m trapped, without her.

He’s changed more times than I can count in the years I’ve known him, and somehow, I love him more each and every time. But there was always a her, and I was always just a friend. Singing in his truck in Santa hats, I felt happy and free, and in his embrace, I felt safe. When he left, he tried to leave quietly. I followed, but couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye. He left me standing with a hug and a kiss on the forehead. The first letter he sent, I clung like a child to the “God bless you”, “I miss you”, and “I love you”. When he came back, the few hours we had were precious, but ended with him leaving again. This time, when he came back, the hours were merely minutes. And it somehow hurt even more.

At graduation, they sang “Homeward Bound”. Wasn’t that a funny lie? None of them were homeward bound. They were mostly college bound, or anywhere-but-here bound. I’m the one trapped in this ghost town.

He died six years ago, and all I’m left with is a cross marking the place he died. So why have I still not left flowers there? I don’t even remember if he liked flowers.

How can I stay in a place this small, when there’s so many memories left to haunt me?

Driving late at night, singing, laughing, screaming.

Snow angels.

Wrestling on the porch for cookies.

Crying.

Every place I go, a memory to haunt me. The ghosts have moved on, but I have not.

I’m sorry. I miss you. I love you. But that all means pretty much the same at this point, doesn’t it?

Author's Note

I know mi haven't posted anything in a long time, but I needed to let this out.