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A ghost's breath

Tiptoes. Stretched arm. Blind fingers.
Your spare key was just where I thought it would be.
The key slides in, turns, slick.
A Persian rug lies in the middle of your room. I slip off my shoes and sink my toes into softness. Perhaps you lie upon it and dream sometimes.
I breathe the air you breathe, see the sights you see.
Here is the chair you sit in. The armrests your slender arms lean against. Sat in a space you occupied in one point in time, I hold the pen with which you write by its ends. I try and catch your fingerprints under the yellow lamp; they are so faint I wonder if my eyes are conjurers.
Your fake-ivory cigarette case is open on top of the cabinet. I take a cigarette and inhale the woody tobacco before tucking it into my breast pocket.
I'll light it up and blacken my lungs to match yours.


I love it. I love the description and the tone and how it's written. I like how I can almost picture it, every scene that you draw in my mind. Mostly i love the ending. You did a perfect job(: please keep writing.