river jack

It’s a phantom, a ghost, that has adopted a few different faces over the years, but remains the same presence who visits you in silence, in the moments your eyes become a bit distance as you wish to will them there across the table from you, sitting right there in the other booth, their eyes trained on the curves of your face.

Your ghost is often your muse, motivating certain areas of your life to move out and forward, because god, what would they think if they found you like that?

The scenes are all rehearsed—how they will walk in the room when they spot you laughing and alive, the sound of truck tires pulling into your driveway in the middle of the night, how you will gasp when you see their name light up your phone as it rings and rings finally.

You’ve tried out a few speeches, but mostly, you’re curious as to what they have to say. The greatest hits are well-thought out for every possible scenario. The night air is chilly as you two end up yelling at each other in the damp cobble street before you embrace in surrender and kiss. The song that plays as they ask you to dance, twirling under dim lights as cheek brushes cheek. The moment when everything changes and you get everything you ever want.