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.
What a beautiful, chilling choice of words… Great!
Good ghost story! A haunting in polyester to boot. Intriguing title too — pluralized. Makes me wonder about the mortal state of the narrator.
Lots of opportunity to prune unnecessary words
I’d like to see more of a narrative, though the choice of words is very evocative of the feeling.
Letting go can be so darned hard–especially if it’s a ghost you’re letting go of! Nice job.