He is here at night, his hot breath stirring the small hairs at the nape of my neck, the heady musk of sweat and smoke clinging to stained polyester.
He is the shadow of a memory, faded and yellow at the edges, a photograph left too long in the sun. He is a ghost, refusing to fade into the blissful surrender of forgiveness, a specter, treading through dreams from dusk until dawn, a waking nightmare, an anchor holding me against the rising tide.
I have forgiven his sins. I have freed him of his guilt. It is time to say good-bye.