I Used To Be A Good Ghost. I Knew How To Become Invisible. I Did Well Occupying Empty Corners, Nodding

I used to be a good ghost. I knew how to become invisible. I did well occupying empty corners, nodding but never uttering a word in the midst of lively conversation. I understood what it meant to sit back quietly, to watch the world unfold around me but to have no part in its unfolding. I am not as good at it now. I am angry. I am sad. I am hungry. I want to stand in the middle of the room, I want to join in the conversation. I want to force them to be aware of the sound of my voice. I want them to have to look me in the eye. I want to be seen. I am not a good ghost.

The hole is part of you. You cannot fill it. You can fill in the space around it, but you cannot fill the hole.

my heart is filled with such deep, irrevocable desire for you. for your delicate touch, for your angelic voice, for the light in your eyes. desire, desire, desire. such a light and romantic word. it does the real thing no justice. desire is enormous, expansive, cannibalistic, consuming. I love you to the point of destruction. I want for you so much that it kills me—do you understand? I eat my heart.

My heart shudders as you mention your ex. Your ex boyfriend, you say. I still have hope. Some people like both. But part of me knows: you will never see me that way. When you told me, I was looking at your lips. Not looking—longing at them, desiring at them. I want them. I want your lips, I want your flesh, I want you. I force myself to look away. Where else can I look? It can’t be you. It can’t be at you. Every part of you makes me want you the same. I leave the room slowly. I can’t ever be near you again. I am sorry, my dearest friend. I wish I could hear you talking without looking at your lips. I wish I could be your friend without wanting your kiss.

I shake and shake and shake. You walk next to me, body next to body. Our arms lightly brush as our arms sway at our sides. I tremble and tremble and tremble. Your hand—it’s blood-filled, tender, lovely skin— is right there. So close. So, so close. I could almost reach out and grab it. I could nearly take it in mine. I could easily fill the space between our bodies. We continue walking. I don’t do it. I restrain myself. My hand longs for yours so desperately, but I make sure to tell it no. I keep it in my pocket. It won’t cause us trouble anymore.

Every single month I am like “wow why am I going insane? I actually want to k*ll myself. I cannot be alive. I cannot do anything. I am the loneliest person in the entire universe.” And then I look at my tracker and it’s like “period in 1 day”