Chapter 16: The End
A ghost. A ghost of someone I loved. A ghost of someone who I’ll always love. A ghost who follows my every move. A ghost who knows me well. A ghost who knows my secrets. Sometimes when I write about her living life, I feel her ghostly presence. The lights around me will sometimes flicker when I write and think about her. The letters on my wall about her move around a bit, when there is no wind or no fan going. Her pictures on my wall move around. Sometimes after I write about her, I lay down in bed, gripping my pillow, thinking it’s her. Sometimes when I do this, and my other hand is free, I feel a weight on my hand like if she was holding it. Just then, I whisper, “I love you”. Then the presence goes, and then I’m alone.