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Ghost

I first heard them say your name yesterday. Then they said it today.

I hadn't heard anyone say your name in a long time. A long time since you died.

They said you were coming back. It couldn't be you could it? You couldn't do that.

I didn't know how I would feel. I felt a sense of dread. Then I was tense. I didn't want to collapse again. You couldn't come back. Why would you? How could you? You were dead and buried and had a new face. Redesigned. A new you. Still the old you.

Then I felt excited. Then I felt happy. I hadn't seen you in so long. I had stopped laying flowers at your grave a long time ago. I had to. Every flower had a piece of me in it.

I didn't want to know you were not in your own heaven. Not blissfully happy and flying with the angels. You lived in a cottage by an open fire. You baked for your children while a guitar played an actual tune in the background.

You were the tomorrow.

I couldn't imagine a life without you in it. I had never had a life without you in it. Even after. Even after you had died.

Then I saw you. And it wasn't you. It was just a ghost of you come to say hello.

And they even got your name wrong. I didn't correct them.

That wasn't for me to do.

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