My mind is spinning with memories.
Memories of her that I can't let slip away.
Never.
I'm laying on my bed, curled up tightly.
My eyes are open but I can't see clearly.
Only light and colors, melting together, blending endlessly.
But there is an emptiness in them.
Because her color is missing.
I can feel the soft blanket beneath me.
My right hand is clenched in a tight fist.
I need to get up.
I know that I need to.
Need to do something.
Move.
Breath.
Stop thinking.
But I can't.
I don't have the strength.
The tiny grain of strength left flows into trying to hold on to her.
To hold on her memories.
Onto the dreams of seeing you just one more day.
But the time we had turned to ash between my fingers.
It slipped through them like sand.
Now I have no more strength.
None.
For anything at all.
Is this how she felt?
Was she as tired, as powerless as me now?
I don't know.
I only know that I want to try.
Try to be there she is.
The one thing I neglected to do for so long.
Chasing after her.
I turn my head and bury it in the soft sheets.
The world turns black as my eyes close.
But I feel safe.
Because now I can see her ghost by my side again.
Her ghost, so perfectly clear.
She doesn't know anymore.
Everything is to much.
Everyone is a liar, bystander, a ghost.
It all feels to heavy.
In her heart is still the phantom of a lost past.
A lost friend.
She tries to make it tell her that it wasn't just a fantasy from the start.
Her fantasy to escape reality.
Reality that is to heavy, reality of a world to dark.
The world seems to pull her down, drown her in sticky darkness and ashen lies and rusty laughter and disappearing ghost in the shadows.
Shadows that hold the memories of laughter.
Of things precious.
Her throat constricts and her stomach churns uncomfortably, painfully, whenever she just thinks about it.
About anything of it.
She wants to throw up.
Wants to cry.
Wants to scream.
No sound escapes her lips.
Nothing.
No tears fall.
Not anymore.
She wants to talk to someone, anyone.
But no one listens.
Or helps.
Even the phantom in her heart is lost.
She doesn't talk.
It's shameful, the ghosts whisper, it's wrong to feel so sad.
So she stays silent.
Drowns quietly.
Until the darknesswaterpain is over her head and her last breath runs out.
Until the weight lifts.
Until she flies one last time.
Until she herself becomes the phantom in the heart.
He doesn't know anymore.
He did so much wrong.
Did everything wrong.
He should have payed more attention.
Should have watched out more for her.
Now she is gone.
And he can't follow her anymore to the place there she is know.
Now the only child he has left isn't leaving its room anymore.
Isn't talking anymore.
Hates him.
Ignores him.
Is drowning as well and he is unable to help.
He hates it.
It's his fault that everything went wrong.
He should have listened.
Shouldn't have dismissed everything for the sake of work.
Now he hates the words "I'm busy!" more then the pest.
How often did he say those words?
How often did he just turn away then she wanted to talk?
Wanted his help?
He hates himself for it.
The guilt is drowning him.
He buries his face deeper in his hands to avoid seeing her.
Seeing her ghost so perfectly clear.
He wants to make up for all his mistakes.
Wants to go there she is just to apologize.
But he knows.
He can't change it anymore.
Can't apologize anymore.
It's to late.
He can only dream about her still being here.
He stands up from the table he had been sitting at.
Walks out on the corridor towards his bedroom.
He stops abruptly as his eyes fall on his child's room.
His living child.
The numbness of guilt and not enough tears fades a bit.
He knows.
He can feel his other child also slipping away from him.
But he won't stop fighting for just one more day.
It might not be enough.
But it's a start.
I lay in my bed than I suddenly hear the soft click of a door being opened.
My door.
I don't move.
Don't look.
Don't react.
I'm to tired for that.
Steps come closer and stop again.
Frozen to the spot.
It's silent.
Only the sound of near silent breaths fills a bit of the emptiness.
No one speaks.
I know who has entered without looking.
I don't know his expression.
Don't know if he wants to say something.
Wants to do something.
I stay still.
Motionless.
Wordless.
I keep my eyes closed, buried in my sheets, her ghost so perfectly clear by my side.
The seconds tick by.
I count them with my heartbeats.
Tick-Bum-Tick-Bum-Tick-Bum.
Everything is slow.
Dull.
Numb.
I wish I was asleep.
Then I could dream of her being here again.
Suddenly, a sigh.
No words.
Then, something is laid in my hand. (Then did I unclench my fist?)
I don't look.
Don't move.
Don't close my fingers around the thing.
Lay still.
Stay silent.
A last brush of warmth against my hand as a different set of finger finally let's go fully of the item.
Then steps again.
A soft click.
My room is empty again.
The perfect silence only broken by my own breaths is back.
The evil silence filled with shadows that comfort me as long as my eyes are closed.
Shadows that take everything precious to me once I open my eyes.
The unknown weight in my hand is comforting.
Vaguely familiar.
Carefully I close my fingers around the item and trace its outlines.
Then I open my hand again.
Turn my head sideways with all my strength.
Open my eyes.
Her ghost disappears.
Look at the thing in my hand.
Suddenly, a tear falls.
More follow.
I cry.
Broken, dry, choked sobs escape my lips.
It's the only sound breaking the silence.
Out of the corner of my half-closed eyes I think I see her ghost smiling.