Dear deceased person whom I miss,
You’re not really deceased. You’re very much alive. The physical you, at least. But whom I’m writing to is long gone. The person this letter is addressed to died the same night I died. The person that I loved with all my heart. The person that I once believed could carry me through the world with his big, muscular arms. The same person that I could call crying that could make the world stop so I could recuperate. The same person that could fill every space in my hand, every space in my heart, every aspect of my happiness. The same person that I could trace the face of with the tip of my finger, and I’d get chills; oh I knew every coordinate of your face, every angle where your brow bone would be a little higher, the rise of the bridge of your nose, the prickly stubbles under your chin. The same person that I could sit with doing nothing, and time would seem to fly by. The same person that would sing me Hey Jude and laugh at all my quirks. I miss you so much, oh deceased person. I miss being able to talk to you and I miss making you laugh.
That was one of my most favorite things to do, making you laugh. Your laugh would start of kind of quiet and when you’re laughing really hard, you’d go silent. Your whole face cringed up and it made me cringe with butterflies when you laughed. I miss that. I miss telling you my plans and mapping out our future, no matter how stupid it was. I miss wondering about who’s eyes our kid would have and I would secretly hope it would look more like you. Oh, friend, I wish you weren’t gone. I still look at my phone to see if you called because somehow, your ghost would stir within you and would miss me. I wish you would let down your pride and would simply ask how I’m doing. I wish you weren’t so cruel and selfish, killing me and you. What were you thinking? I don’t like being a ghost anymore than you like it either. I’m stuck in this limbo now, between living on and being dead.
We are very much physically alive.
We are strangers.
We never happened.
Do you feel the disconnect?
Janet
by j-el