She really isn’t a ghost. She’s just dead, but she lives in my head.

To talk about our marriage is to acknowledge that it was a doomed partnership, clouded by alcohol. I was a fuck up , made mistakes, then got sober and the old drunk me was a husk shed with my sobriety.

I could not make enough amends to her.

And now she’s dead. Been dead for ten years.

So she’s not a ghost, but she’s out walking tonight. Maybe again she is a ghost. And I’m not sleeping.

What do you want from me?