I died when you would not be mine.  Like a ghost I could no longer get a grip.  I still cannot grasp the grave space you left behind.  I hover there.
I make sounds to others until they scream.  I rot but I have not aged.  I am still seventeen when I died and did not realize it.
My soul can’t find the door out of my heart.  Won’t find.  Refuses to find.
If you curse me I could be free.
I still don’t know what I was to you.  I refuse to hear.
Loving you can not be the curse, can it?
Ghosts demand answers they cannot hear.
What is it in me that won’t let me go on?
After all this time we are strangers again from yet another life.
How could you have been such a bright light?  In my dark mansion I am still blinded.
No one could sustain self-pity this long.
I have done too much damage.
I tap my dark hallway with words that echo shapes unseen.
This is me.  That is all.
I still believe that you could have saved me.  I may have bored you with devotion.  You may have left me anyway.  But I never had a chance that I understood.
Women know.
You can see what is wrong with me.
You could see right through me.
But I can’t see what I was to you for those years.
The moon also rises.
I hurry back to where I rise and fall.


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