Ghost Letter

Ghost Letter

It hit me hard today. I was engrossed in my sewing and it snuck up on me like a thief—silent, merciless, stealing my breath before I even knew it was there. Needle in hand, thread mid-stitch, I was undone by memories that refuses to stay buried.

Sometimes I see you, not in the flesh, but in the way shadows lean against a doorframe.

You are gone,yet my mind keeps you standing there—breathing, watching,haunting what I never fully let go.

Then the memories flickers like an old movie reel, time spooled back until it stands still. I am torn—so torn by the images. The smile I once carried for you lies in pieces now, like a love letter ripped apart, its edges ragged and coarse.

And then you vanished, without even whispering a prayer—just gone. Like someone has snuffed out a candle. You left me in the desert with the wind howling, sand stinging my face, as if even the earth conspired to remind me of loss. The sun so scorching, there is no sense of direction—where, oh where, is my oasis?

Was your soul impregnated in me so deeply that it altered my very DNA? Sometimes I feel you moving inside my blood, echoing in the marrow, as if forgetting you would mean erasing part of myself. Perhaps that is why memory refuses to loosen its grip—because it no longer lives outside me, but within.

Then I wonder, will I recognize you in the next lifetime? Or will you catch me unaware like a bore tide, enveloping everything in its wake on the mudflats? Will the surf, the froth and the undertow consume me with raw emotion until I can’t think, and I drown in the vortex that is you?