Haunting the Living
I miss you most when I least expect it.
Driving down a familiar street. “¿Cómo se llama esta calle?” “Victor Labiosa, Kako.” “Por los labios de Victor!” I can hear you laughing at the same jokes you say time and time again and I don’t cry as much anymore but I still have to blink back the tears from blurring my vision of the road in front of me.
Sipping lukewarm coffee in a tiny café in my university they play a song that reminds me of you. Fairytales can come true it can happen to you…and I have to fight back the urge to throw away the rest of my drink because I know you’d get upset that I wasted a good cup of coffee. If you’re young at heart….
The quiet of the library. Your ghost lingers between the shelves, hands tracing the faded letters, eyes closing when you try to remember of a time when your mind was so sharp and brilliant it sliced the pages of the ignorant in half and the arrogant to crumble in your presence. You knew more than the doctors themselves and you hated every single one of them and I have to hide my face in my arms so no one can see how close I am to losing my mind to a ghost that I can’t even see.
Drive, drive, drive down the dark lane lit by shooting stars spitting gasoline at 60 miles per hour reminding myself that there is no one sitting next to me. I’ll be seeing you…That two years should be enough to accept ghosts cannot change the station of the radio and you never never liked how fast I drove. In all the old familiar places… and I don’t have the heart to quiet Billy Holiday and her farewell croon but you can be so loud in my mind and I accepted your death long before you stopped breathing but you won’t answer the phone anymore and you won’t wander the streets looking for you car. In all the old familiar places… How can anyone expect me to stop looking over my shoulder waiting to see you there smiling at me or to erase your phone number? How can the ghosts still haunt the living when you’ve moved on by now? You linger without even trying to hide it. And when you hide I only want to see you more…
Originally published at littleoccurrences.weebly.com.