“You find her under your fingertips as if the dust of her laughter has settled on top of everything that you own. You find her in your food as if the absence of her taste is a flavor of its own. You find her in the empty nights which stretch out, too quiet and dark and cold. You are a crime scene, closed off, shouts locked into your floorboards. you are an abandoned home.
Your sister tells you, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.‘ You haven’t slept in a week.
You don’t know how to say, ‘She haunts me, she haunts me, she haunts me.'”