Conversations with Ghosts

I used to hear stories
from the next room
about who
was visiting who.

I used to hear stories
about people
who weren't there at all
But they were
dashing
from room to room.

In a hurry
to get nowhere,
for the rest of forever.

And she only told me about them
after we moved.

She told me about the men
in the corner of the bedroom.

And how they would watch her sleep.
And how they would watch her fold laundry.

She would tell me this,
as my goosebumps
fed on my flesh
in a house,
that was safe
from Chestnut Street.

She told me about the little girl
in the pretty dress,
who had the ribbons in her hair.

She told me how that little girl
would run from room to room
slamming doors.

She lied.
And told me that she had been doing it
for almost a decade,
and not the girl.

It wasn't until
I was a preteen
that I was able
to point out something
strange
that I had experienced.

Something that had kept me up all night,
and sent me screaming from the master bedroom.

That was when she told me.

"It looks like they love you too."

I've been having conversations with ghosts
ever since.
--

~Torres

28

I don't know why my birthday always bothers me every single year. I'm beginning to think that it's because life is such a trip, and you shouldn't be putting a timeline on it.

I think back to what the past year has brought me. Yes, brought me. Not given me. You don't want to get anything for granted. What it have placed in my lap is news of newborns, a children's book being considered by an editor, a new hobby, a handful of new and amazing friendships, a shiny medal, and engagement to a real good woman, and a day in which I got to paint a porch with my grandfather while my grandmother cooked us lunch.

I felt like a kid again when I was 27. 

I have tried new foods, drinks, and went to the emergency room three times.

I'm writing this silly little post because I love bringing you, the reader, on this crazy journey with me. I hope you consider letting me experience some of your own journey some day.

Everyone knows that I love a good story.

My life is being a grand movie. One that has so many interesting characters and interwoven story lines. I want to put everyone I know in a short story. Publish it. And show everyone whom I do not know how interesting my loved ones are.

Even as I sit here, enjoying birthday scotch and writing this, I think of you. I want you to be well. Don't smirk, it's true. Even though my constant scowl may tell you a different tale. Don't mind it. I scowl for a completely different reason.

I scowl because I love life so much that it pisses me off.

Yours,

~Torres