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The ghost of you

When you’re not  around you’re all around. It’s torturous living in the world you live everywhere. It’s the new present mixed with the most unrealistic dreams. It is crazy you don’t exist anymore. You’re there. In the poni tail, you are there in someone else’s thin legs. You’re not there when the faces turn down. You live all around my space and not a centimetre feels like you. 

I have been disturbed by your perfume in another body. It smells like memories of you. It’s the fastest way you walk taking my attention. It’s not you at the end of the path. It’s the illusion of your apparition. It’s the ghost of you all around. 

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Dear JC, It's peculiar, isn't it, how the mind clings to memories, especially those we wish to forget? Some nights, I find myself ensnared in a web of dreams, each thread woven with echoes of you. You, who dominated my thoughts, still reign in the kingdom of my nighttime musings. I remember, with an unsettling clarity, every encounter, every word, and every smirk. The way your laughter would echo down hallways, a haunting melody that played on all my strings. The cold glint in your eyes as you found new ways to assert your dominance, your power, unyielding and absolute. In these dreams, I revisit those days, each detail meticulously preserved in the museum of my mind. The corridors, once mundane, now seem like twisted labyrinths in my dreams, with you as the ever-present Minotaur, both feared and revered. Sometimes, I wonder if you ever think of those days. Do you ever recall the weight of your words and actions? Or have they dissolved into the ether, insignificant and forgotte...
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