Let's Compare Scars, I'll Show You Who's is Worse

You stand shakily, lifting the book from the floor with trembling hands, struggling to remain calm. You fight the urge to turn and look; a quick glance over your shoulder shows that she’s already gone, body remaining in the world of the living while her mind wandered free of it’s earthly restraints.

You turn quickly away, eyes bright with tears as you cross the room, feeling more lonely than you have in years. You hear her voice then, whispering words of love and apology, and you freeze, unsure of whether or not to go back – and then you hear a name, and you realize she’s not speaking to you.

You didn’t use to believe in ghosts, but you do now – because to her, they’re just as real as you, and in the end, that’s what matters.

There’s something building inside of you, hot and acidic, pressing against your ribs, your heart, your chest.

But still, you say nothing; still, you don’t turn; still, you walk away — because you’re afraid that if you don’t leave now, you never will.

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