Digital & Hand Illustration by Poet Rummager
He never really left.
His clothes and belongings were gone. Yet, every time I made tea or pet the cat, he sat there. Every time I bathed, his hands were soaping me. Having lunch with friends, I’d glance at my phone; expecting him to call.
He’ll never set me free.
“… but real hauntings have nothing to do with ghosts finally; they have to do with the menace of memory.” -Anne Rice
Ancien Hippie 