9.14.08

9.14.08
In movies ghosts are gossamer shadows flicking around, pricking at your skin. But in reality they are the mill weights shackled around our necks that drag us down into the hellish fire and brimstone of grief’s cruel underworld. Your ghost haunts me daily, I live for the tender brief moments of relief when I am able to push you away and free myself of each soured memory. It’s agonizing to realize that the only balm for my soul is twisted anger. Not at you, surely, but at myself for believing water once turned into wine and that love is eternal.

In three days time = the 17th. The bloodiest of all bloody days. Three months of living in a hell even Satan shudders to consider.