The worst part about loving a ghost isn't the fact that you are loving someone who isn't real, or at least, will no longer be real. It isn't that you're tending to something that will never exist, or at least, will no longer exist. The worst part about loving a ghost is having to admit to yourself that you are making a choice--a choice to put your life on hold, a choice to deter your own progress, for the promise of loss, the hope of pain. All for death's sake.
This is the truth we deny, the reality we ignore, the certainty we can't delay. We both know that this will end. We talk about it now like it's a story, something that hasn't taken root because there are months between it all. And for now, the days are going slow. But once the hours begin to breathe down our necks, the days will start to drop like flies. And then the weeks. And before long, there won't be any months left. There will only be a single moment.
The moment you leave.
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