A Note From A GhostBeloved,

Im writing this letter as I sit across the table from you, watching you drink coffee and read the newspaper. You never used to smoke, but youve picked it up. And though I wish youd stop, I understand. In a few minutes youll get dressed and get ready for work; a seemingly inconsequential part of your morning routine that Ive seen a million times before. I used to smile at you and melt as I watched you put your clothes on, but now it only causes me pain to see you look into the tear-stained eyes of your own mirrored reflection and to know from experience the cold-numbness you are experiencing. I hate that the mundane parts of your day which we once cherished together and made meaningful have become a painful reminder of the banality and purposelessness of existence.

I sense that you resent me. And I suppose thats justified. Its not uncommon for what I did to be misunderstood. Although you knew my struggle well and it appears that every day you become more able to empathize with it as you follow a similar path. Every day is a battle. Its always been that way. For both of us. Despite your resentment, you know as well as I do how easily that battle can be lost. All it takes is for the right type of person, to be given the right opportunity, in the right place, on the right day. You know how the lines between right and wrong become blurred when circumstances and emotions align just so.

I wish youd move on. Just so you could be happy again. In fact, I assumed that you would. Which is why I did it. I had no idea the effect that this would have on you. You always said I loved to play the martyr when I never had to, and I guess you were right. Although I guess I was right too, at least to a certain extent. Life goes on, unaffected by my actions. The world keeps turning, and I only wish that youd join it.

We were once lovers, who unwittingly poured salt on each others open wounds before kissing them with sugar-coated lips. Its been years since Ive been alive. Oh what I would give to have back the moments with you full of pain and pleasure, if only to feel something again.

I always regretted not leaving a note. Which is partially why Im writing this one now. Although I know youll never read it. I wish I could take back what Ive done. I wish I could tell you why I did it, how I felt, and that I know I was wrong. I wish I could apologize.

Its not that I havent tried either. Every time you think you hear your name, only to turn around and find nothing there, every time the floor creaks under your step, or one of our trinkets falls mysteriously from the nightstand, Im trying. I dont try as often as I used to.

When you walk barefoot in the park while its rainingI wish that every blade of grass that tickles the soles of your saintly feet were a pen.And I wish that every tear youve cried or bead of sweat that forms upon your brow on a hot summers day were ink.These are the things I wish I could say to youIf you could read my handwritingOr see invisible inkOn a ghostly pageSlid under your door From beyond the grave