She (her ghost?) speaks to me, reminding me of what happened. 

Air stays still in the apartment. 

The music plays in the background, we stare at each other, waiting for each other to break the silence. She speaks, I barely hear her. 

“We need to talk, I can’t go on like this- 

Ti Amo 

In Sogno, ti amo 

The secrets you keep from me, the late nights. What are you keeping from me?” I do not tell her. 

In aria, ti amo 

She yells at me, reminds me how she risked everything to be here, with me. The countless fights because she chose me. Each word strikes deep, like shrapnel lodged in my throat. I mumble, mushing up words, trying so desperately to explain what I cannot. Nothing comes out of my mouth. We both stare at each other, I gaze at her hazel brown eyes, they blink back. Why don’t you tell me? She looks at me, questioning. Rooted to the spot, I stare back blankly. 

Se viene testa vuol dire che basta lasciamoci 

Her lips don’t move, her arms deadweights next to her. She faces me, edge-cutting chin with pinkish lips. She tilts her head slightly as if to better understand who is in front of her. 

I am not sure either. The song continues. 

Ti amo, io sono, 

ti amo, in fondo un uomo… 

Unable to look at her any longer, I turn my gaze to the floor. 

I realize I feel cold, very cold. I stop the music. Draining a glass of lukewarm tap water I look around, the walls feel stale. 

Drawers empty, the bare rooms seem to be getting to me. 

I find myself walking, it is a windy autumn afternoon, the leaves crunch underneath my feet as I walk on the pavement. Both sides of the street have apartments, the occasional student or young couple walking past, couples in their balconies. 

My footsteps lead me to a bar. 

A small, well-lit bar with bare furnishings, it will do. Seated at a table, someone asks me for my order. I ask for coffee. It is still too early for alcohol. Book in front of me, I sip my coffee as I absorb the text, page by page. When time catches up with me, the sun has almost set. Crowds have thinned. I go back to my apartment. 

They tell me to forget and move on. I’m unsure how to. 

Her ghost speaks to me. 

Her translucent figure talks to me, she tells me that I want her back. 

She tells me I was wrong. 

I was. 

I do. 

I play the song again, still as devastatingly beautiful as when I first heard it. It seems I’m drowning in my thoughts. Te Amo. 

“It wasn’t meant to be. You knew it would happen.” 

“I don’t know.” 

It’s a simple dress, low cut with miniature roses on the hems. She is at my chin height, her features (the ghost’s?) are the same, except distilled now with paleness. An edge-cutting face with pinkish lips. There is no hint of expression, I continue staring at her (ghost?). Her hazel eyes have remained as opaque as ever. We seem to be coming to a compromise. She tilts her head, asking me something. I don’t understand. Maybe I have been drinking too much. 

I live with a ghost. 

After a busy day at the office, I come back to my bare apartment, in search of a beer and solitude. She is waiting for me. I spend the whole night at the bar, she watches me, with no change of expression or posture. She simply floats next to me, observing me. Day by day, week by week. 

People have come to notice, they seem to avoid me now. I hear whispers, hushed talking around me. She hears them too. The bar seems to hold no friends now, it is utterly devoid of comfort. Was it ever? I retreat into my apartment, the architectural shell of my past life. The walls silently observe my descent into madness. It seems every madman knows he is mad. She (her ghost?) sleeps beside me, it follows me around like a contraption that has me tied down, slowly pulling the rope so that I cannot move. She (the ghost?) is in my very aura. 

What does she (the ghost?) want from me? 

I ask her, but she does not reply. 

I dive into my cycle of life, hoping to find comfort by oblivion. 

Weeks pass. 

She feels more transparent now, as pale as the moon. 

The whispering seems to have subsided, or have I ceased to notice? Alone in my apartment, I start to dream again. 

Maybe it will all go away. 

I laugh. 

Snow is falling outside today, I place myself by the window and watch as each snowflake glides to the ground, amassing slowly into a layer of white. She seems to have lost most form now, one can just about make out her outline. Her hazel eyes are as absorbing as ever, still as clear and bright as I first saw her. I leave for work, she does not follow. 

She is now the ghost of a ghost. 

My thoughts drift to her from time to time, it has been a busy day, I head back home. Briefcase in hand I turn the handle, to find her staring at me. Her form has almost dissolved, though her hazel eyes are still piercing into me. 

“I have something to show you.” She says matter-of-factly. 

I oblige. She leads me down the stairs, outside the apartment complex, and into the street. I see nobody around me, the sun has set. We make it onto a side street where she leads us to a shuttered-down shop. It has not been used in a while, 

that much is plain. She gestures to me to open the shutter, having no form or power of her own. 

Inside there is a woman. She seems to have been waiting for me. 

She is wearing a simple dress, she has an edge–cutting face with pinkish lips, the borders of her slender body clear. 

Only her hazel eyes seem to be tinged with grey, a fraction of what they had been once. 

I find myself alone with 2 ghosts. 

I do not know who she (they?) is (are?). 

I do not know who I am. 

I am lost.