i love two ghosts
and both are still alive.
one blocked me on christmas
and the other never unlearned the silence.
He walks like he forgot
he once held my heart in a lunchroom chair,
that he painted memories in purples
and now pretends he never saw the canvas.
my sister breathes in the same world
but not in mine—
our only words came when i was eleven,
and i keep rereading them like scripture
as if they’ll grow more meaning
with every whisper.

i don’t know how to reach
what won’t be reached.
maybe love like this is a one-way street—
no signs, no turnarounds,
just a dead end you drive to over and over
because the wreckage feels like home.

i want to tell them:
i’m not trying to haunt you.
i just want to know you exist
in a way that includes me.
but i keep folding my voice
into the corners of unsent messages,
hoping maybe
they’ll feel the weight
and open a window
before i disappear entirely.