Haunt.
February 3, 2007I am in love with a ghost.
At night, when the crimson leaches from the sky outside and the last of the light is drawn out of the window, I give life to the tangerine and lavender pillars decorating the various nooks and crannies of this small, cramped room. The flickering orange lights cast the beginnings of children’s nightmares on the walls whilst here, in this semi-darkness, I wait for him. There is no need for a Medium; this séance is well rehearsed.
His arrival is announced by an almost imperceptible whisper of his customary greeting in my ear. I want to catch his words as they fall from his lips and lock them away like a precious jewel from a thief before silence robs them from me. The shadows of his fingers pass over my warm skin leaving behind them a frigid trail. He is the ultimate box of chocolates and I am the weakest of wills. I can’t help but indulge myself shamelessly in him.
Though in amongst the sweet nothings caressing my ear a question hides. A question that leaves my mouth dry and my lungs empty. A question that takes my words from me and places them on the highest shelf far out of my reach. It paints images of him on the insides of my eyelids. Images of him sitting in a small, cramped room while the candlelight takes the edge off the darkness and flickers against the walls, creating the beginnings of children’s nightmares, as he waits for me. A well rehearsed séance.
“Why do you haunt me?“
