The Ghost in the Attic

Sometime ago I met a ghost.

He had your eyes, of course, your lips.

Even your dimple on the right side of your once warm mouth.

It is not warm to me anymore, not because you are no longer here...

I should clarify to my readers that you are very much alive. I may not know where, but to be honest I never want to know a thing about you again.

I've lamented you for so long it seems. You were warm only for a time, until the man staring at me was the shedding of skin.

Now, it only comes out when it rains. Your ghost, I mean.

It rattles my windows and thunders down the hall, waking up every room of my mind. Rooms I wanted to keep hidden, behind that attic door of memories too painful to air out during sunny days.

And you are still somewhere far from here, thank God, but when it rains....

When it rains my nightmare comes to life and I am in a puddle by the front door.

Trying to run from any trace of you.