living with the ghost

my flat is empty. there is only the gently purr of my faithful kitten. though, she is first to abandon me once the window is open. or if any men enter the house, she is there, by their side. ignoring me.

the walls are empty. my life. our life is sectioned into cardboard cells. hidden from view are the happy memories and sweetly whispered secrets.

but these are not the ghost. it's not the ghost of a marriage that has seen better days. it's not even the ghost of my previous self. the happier one. the carefree and loving one.

no.

this is a ghost that truly remains unseen.

i noticed it most this morning. the sugar bowl that was near empty yesterday. is now full. the milk that was on it's last legs has been replaced with a new carton. there is a cereal bowl, rinsed and set ready to be placed in the dishwasher. the mail that was piled carefully on the counter. is opened. read. and relegated to the garbage.

i'm pretty sure the cat can see this ghost. i have a strong feeling it comes and goes with a gentle pat on her head. and possibly with a warm lap for her to perch.

if i sit here. still. and close my eyes.

i can almost smell the familiar scent of my ghost.

almost.