THIS SACRED place we shared is mine alone tonight, now transformed into a shrine for your haunting. I conduct a séance at the place, and the hologram of your phantom manifests through my screen. Accompanied by your sweet furball from your youth, finally reunited.
Pressing play on the motion picture of your life, even your shadow, can brighten this empty void inside. I lead myself to believe that the voice that echoes in my room comes from you, not from this device in my shaking hands.
I still remember your face the day a film made us both vulnerable to our fears. The 15-second clips of yours still haunt my flickering memory. In these spaces you cultivated online, there are traces of your real being.
As I opened this chat window, the last thing you sent was unnoticed by me. Profusely asking me to visit a ramen place together, my unreturned response haunts me at night. Remembering the portrait atop your coffin, I remind myself—it’s only a fraction of your story.
I have underestimated time, yet here I am now. I just have to remember you in this digital home you created, and I shall fool myself as I refresh it, every now and then. I will scroll through the pictures we took at this place and listen to your voice messages, pretending that it is your voice floating through the halls greeting me as I come home.
Just as I sat down at our table, a pang of claws touched my skin, resembling your late cat, carrying the message I could no longer reach. F
