Finding You

Ghost

He sees her in flashes.

In the shadows of the day, and the flickers of light in the night. Her eyes, her smile, her laughter. It ricochets off the walls around him, bouncing like light in a prism, and he decides that must be true. Because surely nothing could be as colorful and bright and melodious as this woman.

A part of him decides he must be going insane. Because there's pieces of a girl that assemble themselves in the darkness of his room at night. Haunting him. But somehow, he can't bring himself to chase away the ghosts.

Sometimes, when he falls into bed with a woman who is decidedly not his haunting spirit, he thinks he hears whispered promises and breaths of the cosmos floating through the air. But then his eyes open to the sight of a woman he won't remember in a week, a month, and wonders what makes the vision so special. Why will all of these nights and people disappear but this one ghost remain?

As far back as he can recall, he has never had anything to do with this woman. He has never touched her skin, never felt her breath tickle his ear, and he has never heard her gentle lilt. But regardless, he can smell the lavender of her hair, taste chamomile of her lips, and can feel safe. He knows what it is like to hold her close, to love her.

But she is a phantom; she brings a smile and a question to his lips before the flashes fade and he's left staring into empty space. What makes her so unique? Why won't she leave him alone?

He can see the freckles on her cheeks; pencils in her hair. He can see the way tendrils of hair fall in front of wide, wondrous eyes that hold constellations. But he does not know her. Not truly.

He thinks perhaps one day she will fade. Her features will melt into the nothingness they appeared from, and he will be set free. No more hauntingly beautiful smiles or doe-eyed looks. No more of the pleasure on her face as they give themselves over to each other, no more breathy metaphors or quick wit.

She is a ghost with no name, yet he wants her to be real. He wants to feel her warmth through the jumpers she seems so find of, or the taste of tea on her lips. He wants her, whole and breathing and alive. No more of this déjà vu and half completed visions.

They stop one day. No wilting shadows or shapes or sounds. Simply silence.

He thinks somehow that this is it; he can finally breath again. But a part of him chips off and disappears with the mystery girl, back into the void they came from.

But then she's there, her eyes wide, face pale, hair messy and tangled and lips full, holding that last tiny piece of himself in her palms, and somehow he knows.

She was never just a dream.

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