haunted. my skin is like a house with walls that crawl with uneasy ghosts – your touch still lives with me, slithering into the spaces between my fingers where your hands used to be. i never knew something that wasn’t there could hurt so badly.
raking over old coals only brings more heat to the surface, more burning under the scars i thought had healed. i claw at them to stop the madness, but they only gape wider. and still, they burn.
in the rain, they ache like my bones are cracking apart in my body. the chill you left with your wintery goodbye seeps through to the core, leaving me almost numb. almost.
it’s like a part of me is gone but still there. i can feel your fingers and smell your cologne, and it’s like you never left, except when i reach for you, you’re not there. a faint swirl of smoke, the echo of your smile, and nothing more.
some things never rest peacefully.
— phantom pains / abby, day 88