Have you ever spoken to a ghost? Ever spoke to someone, expecting a response, only to be met with your own echoes? An apparition of sorts. That’s what I feel every time we speak. But when we speak, it’s just me cursing and screaming as if you could hear my swears. As if you were there. As if you gave a flying fuck. You know, sometimes I correct myself. I calm down, cut myself short, and question my anger, as if it’s unjustified. You don’t even know the the half. That’s what I tell myself. And then tell myself to just let it go, live your life and take care of your family. They’ve got you and you’ve them. That’s what matters, right? Why bother with someone who wouldn’t give you the time of day. All of this one partied back and forth. What’s it good for any damn way? I can only imagine this is all too relate-able to how a child feels whose parent left them, but you’re no parent of mine, just a long lost roommate I guess. Hell, I have other siblings, right? I’m so blessed. I have a beautiful family and everything a man could dream of. I’ve got a good thing going. Tell me, how do you sleep at night? How do you sleep knowing how you’ve abandoned so many people. Can’t be too peaceful. But honestly, I’ve forgiven you. I feel as if I know what you may be going through, and that I too have abandoned so many that are right before my eyes, and yet I’m scared to death to tell you. It’s been so long, ghost girl.