ghosts and dreams

I'm never sure if it's a dream or a ghost that slips away from in the mornings. Sometimes they linger for a few hours, laughing, leaning on you drunkenly as you wander through the shapeless landscape of dreams back to your home. Then it's falling into bed, and she kisses you sloppily and then as you wrap your arms around her waist the doorbell rings and jars you awake and you stumble out of bed and let the repairman in, and then you make a cup of tea and sit down to read a book, when suddenly you realize she's gone and she was never there, or there's no trace of her anywhere, and you never went out and you weren't drinking and she's in California, anyway, and you're miles away and you haven't seen or spoken to her in months and those times have past.

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