Ghost.

I haven’t been out at 3 a.m. in a while. By while, I mean without you.
The fog was covering the mountains in a thick layer, smoothing any jagged details. It was humid, but I still wore the flannel you liked me to keep in the backseat of my car for this very purpose. Still tucked into my security blanket, I went to sleep in the middle of my bed.
This morning, I grumbled as I took out the vacuum and swept up the place. Topsoil littered the floor and napkins were shredded under the couch. It wasn’t until I saw a pair of paws playing quietly alone that I realized we all have a silent caretaker.
I have to choose who I want to care for me, as well as who deserves my care.

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Ghost.

Sunset.

I took down my hair and flew through the yellow lights. Each intersection had a woman on the corner, waiting for their chance to move. I flew to you.
Later, I ate with you but looked at the sky alone, with a quiet and sole interpretation.
I asked, “I wonder how many times we’ve looked at a sky, called it beautiful, and then completely forgotten it?” I asked.
You said.¬†“All I heard was ‘completely forgotten’,” you said.
Grinning, I explained why that fleeting moment was ironic.
In that moment, we were the sky.

Sunset.