Open Letter #20


It’s raining outside—or I believe it is. I’ve got the music turned up and really, who can hear anything when that smooth voice reaches out to caress your ears? But as I’m sitting here at my desk, lost in yesterday, an invisible vocalist my only companion, I can’t help but take a peek outside.

As it turns out, it isn’t raining.

I must be imagining things again then. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me. It’s been happening quite a lot lately, perhaps it’s a symptom of bereavement. I wouldn’t know, nor am I in the mood to ponder. Because all I can think about right now is that ghost lingering in the form of your scent and dry laughter, wondering if it’ll leave me alone tonight.

You’re not here—I know that. I don’t need the reminder.

—N. Rinth


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