Sometimes he sneaks up on me. His memory greets me like a gentle shoulder tap or a whisper in my ear. Maybe it’s the sound of his laugh or the way he called me “darlin’.” I feel him wash over me. It’s warm…and melancholy.

We were never exactly a couple, but we were certainly tied at the soul-level. We rest together, still, at the intersection of love and lust, lover and friend. Our dance is nuanced. Distant and intimate all at once.

And my imagination is such a heartless tease. She’ll spend hours, days building up a life together. That life does not exist outside the confines of my mind. My imagination is a liar. She builds dreams that don’t come true.

I stare at carbon filled diamonds and wish away the invisible strings that connect us.

But he persists. In my memory and…at times…in the flesh.

He interrupts.

Sometimes he sneaks up on me at the worst moment. When I’ve met someone new. A hopeful mate. An open-hearted gentleman.

He steals my attention.

I remember the time we lay in bed together after not seeing each other for over a year…”it feels so good to have my arms around you,” he whispered. My skin tingles.

And I’ve already forgotten the new, hopeful man…

I cannot discern if he has been sent here to protect me; to distract me from going down the wrong path. Or if he’s been sent here to torture me; to keep my heart guarded, my bed tidy.

Musical pairing to enhance your reading pleasure: