a decade ago I fell in love with a ghost
a shade, a spectre, an echo of reality
I promised myself she was real: flesh, blood, bone
like a child with an imaginary friend
when we were together it was joyous anxiety
all was perfect; nothing felt right
mourning for what could have been felt natural
so I slept at the grave of our love
I had etched the stone's epitaph myself
“here lies a love which will never die”
though I eventually moved out of the graveyard,
I returned frequently: during winter, at night
a decade ago I forced a ghost to live
screaming, crying, burning
I shattered the tombstone this morning
dug up the grave, still empty.
-Zero
