The Last Gasps of a Dying Ghost

After an especially lonely evening, after her partner had died, a woman awoke to find this message on her nightstand:

I think I might’ve died and become a ghost… but I don’t even know when it happened. I had family and friends, and then I did not.  It’s kind of a blur.

It’s hard to tell if I’m remembering things or if they’re still happening now. I eat and defecate, I smoke pot, drink whiskey, and I remember watching movies and I remember you. And I sleep. Maybe a lot. It worries me, though, that I don’t remember anything new with you.

If I’m a ghost, it appears I can’t come and visit you. I would give it all up for that if I could, but I can’t seem to figure out how. It makes my head too heavy to hold up. Maybe ghosts like me can only receive visitors like you. Can you feel it too?  

Love is forever, but if this is it, what is forever? Is this it?

I think I might’ve died and become a ghost.  I think at first they remembered me, but now they don’t. I don’t know for how long or deep this existence of non-existence goes… maybe I’ve been dead for a long time, I don’t know. I must occasionally wake up, though, but whether as a ghost or twilight dreamer, again more things I don’t know.   

If only I could think. Think, Dammit! THINK!!!  
Rap rap rap, there comes a rapping at my door…,
Was it Elinor, or Nevermore, or Evermore, I don’t know anymore.  
If no one remembers me, maybe I’ll be nevermore anymore.

If only I could think! Am I the last gasps of a dying ghost? Isn’t there something more? Maybe that’s what all the frustration of being a ghost really is… down to asking the final questions, the ones that can’t be answered.    

Clean soft white sheets and clean soft white pillows, sleeping isn’t so bad, it’s a nice act to follow.  

Tell my love good night, and wake for me in the morning if I don’t wake with her first with a kiss.

by randy peterson