To remain vacated: refuge for some, despair for others, and a brief interval for all else, players of “love”.
And what do these three types of untenanted hearts have in common?
The countless incoming prospects! Couldn’t you tell!?! I say… look around!
They’re everywhere and nowhere to be seen. Prospects are such a hard species to trace back and, coincidentally, those prospecting usually so untalented at this pleasure-hunting trade.
But you know, here’s a tiny story I shall hereby detail. Short but lasting, or so I find it. A story of my own recent living.
I, ‘ve been meeting with a ghost almost all days since some morning about two Winters ago. It didn’t feel cold though, it didn’t even feel at first. Her nudges just couldn’t move me. I stranged it but abided regardless of how peculiarly it started, simple as that.
“Such a weird acting duppy”, I whirred on my own, “Where’s the paleness at or the shortness of breath that’s supposed to turn into that gasped sibilation?”. Anything really!…
I guess y’all understand what I mean though. Because I not only got to be acquainted with a ghost but she’s happened to be this weird one. Of those that do not frighten, do not lure, do not do a thing at all; she just was, is… I don’t entirely know, but so she’s been, ever since that introductory morning, the day I was haunted.
We’ve been binded ever since.
“Hmmm… You and I both shaping up this brilliant, vapid tale.”, little more than this she’s conveyed to me for the duration of the fistful of seasons which separate now from that first day. It might look as if such is the intent here, lingering for how long… are we waiting for miracles?
Shouldn’t we be? That she’s to come alive as I walk closer to the grave, pushed by time and drought, a road I don’t seem to struggle with anymore? She has no turning point, none to be counted upon but still I cannot dare not count her in for something else better, manageable and sharable within us. Truth is I feel for this ghost far more seriously than I ever did for any of the fleshier counterparts.
I wonder if it takes ghosts to reckon ghosts who’re still untagged. You know, truthfully, what I have come to grounds with is the notion that I was as doomed as her, only that she’s there remained for a little longer; a slightly more decayed soul but, all the same, nobler than most. That’s what I found her to be, a finding of secular importance. Unignorable.
Her eyes and her soul are all things old about her, the rest pretty much immaculate or so I imagine her form to be… for I have not yet seen her or held her since her touches are ethereal, as I told you. And she might be invisible as they come but nothing close to transparent as you’d think; certainly not!
I’m myself still in doubts sometimes about all this but I choose to look beyond, nothing else required from her side either. Besides, the instructions were short and sonant, “I’m very difficult. I trust you know that already…”.
I nodded. I assume she must’ve been around that time to see me nod, for she has continued to be close, or at least around, ever since.
Vacated: how both her and I know each other for, thus that nod of understanding.
And you’ll wonder how much it meant, this petty gesture; well, I am still able to feel her, every day. I’m readying myself, I’m just awaiting the day she chooses to knock instead, who knows, some day… that’s why I keep my doors locked for.