whisper

you know, she said, the past has been lingering this week; stray ghosts sitting next to me in the car, following me through the house. I hear them whispering; why is the world so changed? who have you become? why have you left us behind?

I keep telling them, she said, over and over; I did not leave them behind, they left me, and that was how it should be: we all needed to be left and turned out on our own, and me most of all. isn't it much better that way?

I said, better? it's not a matter of better or worse, it's a matter of life. we all have ghosts lingering in the corners, but ghosts have to make way for flesh and blood and laughter and warmth. life is more beautiful than transparent memories and regrets.