The Ghost

[Fictional]

He was a ghost. There was no doubt in your mind that he existed, yet you really didn't want to acknowledge it. Why was that, anyway? You knew him when he was human, even looked forward to the times when he would come around for dinner and you would both get caught up in bruschetta and pasta and stay up for hours pouring your hearts out to each other.

He was a ghost. You feared the sight of him now. Well, at least that hadn't changed. Funnily enough, as much as you had anticipated his voice, you also feared the thought of meeting him in person on any unprecedented occassion, like maybe one day bumping into him on the street with the someone he had been tagged taking selfies with on Facebook that one time you had nothing to do.

He was a ghost. You knew he existed. You can feel him still and your heart goes all warm and cold then warm again then cold again every time you remember his voice, his touch. Maybe your overactive imagination was taking hold again. It had been a problem since you were old enough to conjure up realistic scenarios of dragons and the contents of your trunk when you were on your shopping trip before wizard school began. You can't help that think that maybe having your mind play tricks was beginning to be a pain in the one place you can't state out because you're conservative and old-fashioned.

He was a ghost. He left almost as quickly and quietly as the time your phone turned black for no plausible reason. Come to think of it, they were both the same. Unreliable track records with no positive feedback, yet still managed to leave your heart aching a little when you couldn't actually depend on it anymore.