Mourning a Ghoster
When you poured your heart out and the response was only one word.
When you finally became comfortable only to have the sheets snatched from your warm body.
Falling to the ground left ashamed and cold wondering…did I show too much. Was I good enough?
When the good morning messages abruptly come to an end.
Am I no longer beautiful in the morning?
When their concern for your safety is no longer expressed.
When the compliments end.
Was it all a lie? Is courtship a lie?
Did they ever care if I made it home? If so why haven’t I been asked?
Why am I no longer asked; have you eaten today or did you sleep well, and I’d answer “yes, because you were in my thoughts before I closed my eyes.”
When giddiness returned.
When your tender voice came back.
It was buried for so long. Forced to mimic the tone of a man to prove you are strong enough not to fall in again. Yet, your diaphragm proves otherwise.
When you thought you were friends.
When you followed his lead in maintaining casual to build a “friendship” first; only to become strangers afterwards.
Were we ever really friends?
Do friends abandoned one another?
When it’s all another memory.
When it’s another story you tell.
When it’s another mystery trying to figure out why this person entered and made an exit…
When you pregame and brainstorm how to be better so the next will enter and stay longer…possibly forever.
When you knit a thicker sweater to prevent coldness from reentering your heart space.
When you start over because there is still hope.