When your depression makes you feel like a ghost, he will look at you with those big, brown eyes and ask you what’s wrong. You will open your mouth to try to explain, but all that will come out is white noise. Your thoughts have become fuzzy manifestations of static across TV screens. You find yourself dissociating; an apparition unable to find your remote control to change the channel and tune yourself back in to reality. You have gotten lost in conversation with his bedroom ceiling once again, and forgotten he was even there.
He will play with your hair and ask you what you want to do. You will ask him if you can just hide from the world; haunt him and stay in his bed for the day. He will kiss your forehead and ensure you that you are always welcome with him, confirming that your home is in his presence. You will silently ask yourself how long he will put up with your own, as you zone out yet again while he tries to tell you a story about a concert he attended last summer.
When he notices your lack of response, he will rub your back and try one last time to coax some kind of explanation for your mood out of you. Unfortunately, the explanation, to your knowledge, does not exist. Embarrassed, you will pull his blue blanket over your head. When he tries to talk to you, you will tell him you are merely a figment of his imagination. You will tell him that it only feels like you’re there, but that you’re not actually present. Not really. He will uncover you, kiss you again and say, “Well, you did say you wanted to be a ghost, Love.”
You will kiss him back, allow him to wrap his arms around you, and pray that he doesn’t notice you’re already gone.
Pray he doesn’t realize, he’s holding a corpse.