There’s a sound, a repetition, a feeling of curious circularity that I feel when I am alone late at night, thinking. Right on the edge of hearing, like an echo heard through a marijuana haze.
I keep dreaming that there are things implied by your absence, but I know that really that’s not so. That you’re gone and that is just all there is. I learned a new term recently, ghosting, and that for me explains it all. You ghosted and like a ghost you’re not really there, and maybe never were. It is possibly an illusion that you were ever here, near me. Something I wished for, more than could ever happen. I remember that you would do things at clubs to get my attention, like kiss somebody that you thought might make me notice you more. You might drink an extra drink to get your courage up and your resistance lowered, and dance to a song that moved you more than it could if you were sober. And sometimes, just sometimes, I would then go up and dance with you; let your arm encircle my waist as a slow beat brought us together and apart.