I was home. The home that was brick, that was surrounded with green, that was safe. I was in my childhood.
Of course he would come into that place. A place of such powerful memory. A place that is precious to me. A place that I dare not indulge in for fear that I may break the perfect illusion.
He was my best friend for as long as I knew him. I knew him for four years. Four years that could have spanned a lifetime of events and moments. Moments like first dances, first kisses, first decisions and first failures. To have a friend to call “best” through it all. Secure in his wisdom, his strength, his goals that I wanted him to achieve. I was secure in knowing that the friendship we shared was a brotherly bond.
How lucky I am to have had a best friend like him.
He no longer is. Maybe that is why as I watched his figure approach the house of my childhood I could feel the weather change. The wind started to howl, the sun hid in fear, and a chill set in that gnawed on my bones.
I invited him in, though I cannot remember saying the words. As clearly as I can remember he simply had been for one moment outside, then in other, in. In that place that I called home. In that place that was meant to be undisturbed. In my life once more.
I tell you now dear reader it is difficult to write the details that have already ebbed away from this dream. There was a conversation that happened. For as best as I can recollect, my friend said nothing. He didn’t have to. Every thought that was his was really my own, and suddenly I was faced with a spirit that had haunted me for years.
“Why?” The question was never spoken yet I knew it was what he had come for.
I didn’t have an answer. Time and distance and broken something I didn’t realize I treasured until it was in several pieces.
I woke up suddenly, the morning sky grey through my open window. It seem fitting. For I had seen a ghost from my past, and desperately wished to speak with him once more.