Ghost of You
Inspired by Good Charlotte's "Ghost of You" from their new album "The Chronicles of Life and Death"
Ghost of You
Fresh from the shower I pull on a wifebeater and a pair of cheer shorts and I catch a glimpse of our bed out of the corner of my eye. It looks so cold and empty now, now that you’re gone. I give in and lay down on your side. It no longer holds your wonderful masculine scent, only the disappointing fresh linen scent that clings to the hall closet so well. I wish your scent hung around like that. Rolling over back onto my side of the bed I hope you can see that I still expect you to crawl in beside me after turning watching late-night reruns of Saturday Night Live on the television in the living room. But the TV's not on and the living room is empty, void of your presence completely. I lay crying for what seems hours thinking about us and all the things we did and wondering why you had to leave me, until I fall into a violent fit of restless sleep. I dream you’re still here, I dream of the time we were watching a scary movie and I screamed, making you automatically hold me tight trying to bring me back to our own world instead of the violent one on the television. I dream of all the times we shared together. Suddenly I smell your wonderful smell and feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingertips and feel you running your calloused fingertips through my shoulder-length brown hair. I wake up and look over expecting to see you, but alas, I’m the only one there. I realize there’s nothing left of us at all as I pace through the house, barely noticing the oven flashing 3 a.m. “It takes more than one person for there to be an ‘us’” I sigh as I pace on. I stop to stare at the pictures of us on the walls. I remember every adventure, every trip, every tour, we were wonderful. I paced on and stopped again in front of the framed gold album on the wall, the one that happened to have the song you wrote for me on it, even though neither the band, nor the fans ever knew it. It was the song you’d sing to me every time I was sad. I shiver slightly as I see my breath on cold air as I exhale. I stop and ponder my sanity when I catch myself wondering if that patch of cold air was your presence. I shake my head and resume my rhythmic pacing and wondering in my head as I continue to look at the pictures of us. I just want us back, nothing else, it’s all I'm looking for, just us. I sigh again and turn from the photographs, not wishing their presence any longer. I only want to know you’re here. Now crying hysterically, I sit down on the steps leading down into the living room and screamed at the empty room “Please, just tell me you’re here, a sign, anything?!?!” Then I hear the soft click of the stereo being turned on, then your soft voice filters out of the speakers, singing the same song you would sing to me when I cried when you were alive. Suddenly realizing I’ve been enveloped by your scent, I know you’re safe.
Ghost of You
Fresh from the shower I pull on a wifebeater and a pair of cheer shorts and I catch a glimpse of our bed out of the corner of my eye. It looks so cold and empty now, now that you’re gone. I give in and lay down on your side. It no longer holds your wonderful masculine scent, only the disappointing fresh linen scent that clings to the hall closet so well. I wish your scent hung around like that. Rolling over back onto my side of the bed I hope you can see that I still expect you to crawl in beside me after turning watching late-night reruns of Saturday Night Live on the television in the living room. But the TV's not on and the living room is empty, void of your presence completely. I lay crying for what seems hours thinking about us and all the things we did and wondering why you had to leave me, until I fall into a violent fit of restless sleep. I dream you’re still here, I dream of the time we were watching a scary movie and I screamed, making you automatically hold me tight trying to bring me back to our own world instead of the violent one on the television. I dream of all the times we shared together. Suddenly I smell your wonderful smell and feel the warmth of your skin beneath my fingertips and feel you running your calloused fingertips through my shoulder-length brown hair. I wake up and look over expecting to see you, but alas, I’m the only one there. I realize there’s nothing left of us at all as I pace through the house, barely noticing the oven flashing 3 a.m. “It takes more than one person for there to be an ‘us’” I sigh as I pace on. I stop to stare at the pictures of us on the walls. I remember every adventure, every trip, every tour, we were wonderful. I paced on and stopped again in front of the framed gold album on the wall, the one that happened to have the song you wrote for me on it, even though neither the band, nor the fans ever knew it. It was the song you’d sing to me every time I was sad. I shiver slightly as I see my breath on cold air as I exhale. I stop and ponder my sanity when I catch myself wondering if that patch of cold air was your presence. I shake my head and resume my rhythmic pacing and wondering in my head as I continue to look at the pictures of us. I just want us back, nothing else, it’s all I'm looking for, just us. I sigh again and turn from the photographs, not wishing their presence any longer. I only want to know you’re here. Now crying hysterically, I sit down on the steps leading down into the living room and screamed at the empty room “Please, just tell me you’re here, a sign, anything?!?!” Then I hear the soft click of the stereo being turned on, then your soft voice filters out of the speakers, singing the same song you would sing to me when I cried when you were alive. Suddenly realizing I’ve been enveloped by your scent, I know you’re safe.