Excerpts From the Stories I'll Never Write

[28] Caraphernelia

I walked into my room and throw myself on the bed. As I lay down, my mind immediately drifted to somewhere. Somewhere in the past.

I shut my eyes, hoping if I would do that, the memories of you will go away.

But it didn’t.

I remember your face when I wake up in the morning. I remember your husky voice whenever you speak to me. I remember how would you brush my hair. I remember your sweet scent. I remember how would you hug me from behind whenever I’m upset. I remember how would you kiss me. I remember how would you hold on to me. I remember your whispers in my ear saying, “I love you,” “I’m here,” “I would never leave you.” I remember how would you intertwine our fingers while saying our future plans together.

I remember it all.

I remember it everyday.

And it also kills me everyday because I know the truth.

That you would never come back to me.

That we would never be together again.

I guess, “us” is something I would like to come true.

But that would never happen.

Because you’re now just a ghost; a ghost that I would want to keep on haunting me.

Forever.

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