:: Ghosts ::

Addendum:

'I had one.'
'There's nothing to be ashamed about―I had one too.'
'Any...regrets?'
'It was a necessary choice.'
'I'm sorry.'
'Don't be...it had to be done. How old were you?'
'Just turned 17. You?'
'Old enough to know better. He―ran away. Just disappeared.'
'He cried.'
'So did you, I'm sure.'
'Didn't you?'
'I can't remember. Must have.'
'Were you alone?'
'Weren't you?'
'We always are, in the end.'
'It's okay. We're fine now.'
'Sometimes I wonder.'
'I know, I know―you look back and get all emotional about it―'
'Not emotional. More like horrified: how the fuck did I―we―get through it?'
'We did what we have to.'
'Doesn't make it right, though, does it?'
'You already knew that, even when you were doing it.'
'I was so stupid.'
'Stop blaming yourself. It's not like anything can be changed.'
'What a decision, wasn't it? I never felt more in charged of my own body, but I never felt more despicable.'
'At that moment I knew―all lies. When they say they'll be there for you. Load of rubbish.'
'Are you jaded?'
'Aren't you?'
'Of course.'
'Naturally.'

And so we held hands of bitter sisterhood, laughing together with strangled rhythm, our eyes bright like memories. You never really thought it would come down to this, did you? That love―haha―would be more verminous than virtuous, that its ability to hurt is more―much more―than its ability to heal? It was easy when we were younger, wasn't it? You thought your scarlet passion would give way to a happy grey, that those white wedding flowers would eventually blosom into a golden anniversary. I thought love can overcome all; I thought that if I loved and I loved hard enough, that could be my commonplace faith and my unblemished absolution. In the end, who betrayed whom betrayed what? Are we really let down by the ones we loved, or are we simply disappointed by the rift of dissonance because our expectations became abject rejects in the face of reality?

'So you never talked to him again?'
'Whatever for?'
'It's hard to imagine, isn't it―from so much love to so much indifference.'
'How else to heal? I'm not about to pretend that it was easy.'
'Can you keep the love? Let it become something else?'
'Not at my age.'
'Friendship is ageless.' (And age is friendless, but I do not like to say it...)
'I'm too tired to care about that. I loved, I failed, I leave, and I don't like to look back.'
'That's harsh. But I see your point. And you didn't leave―he did.'
'I was a fool.'
'You were in love.'
'Love isn't everything. I didn't used to believe that. Now I do.'
'Do you feel incomplete?'
'Not as much as I did when I was with someone who wasn't with me.'
'All love stories converge to a point, don't they―a point of similar differences.'
'Maybe they are all the same. The men, the women, the choices, the good, the bad. Same variations.'
'I just want him to be happy.'
'All this is so pointless. More cheesecake?'

And so we ate with voracious appetite―this is one seduction we can afford, you see. This is one transaction that is clean and sensible: you get exactly what you're paying for, in the exact manner you want it. This is one love affair that does not get knocked up, broken down, cast out, fenced in. Perhaps my love for cakes and chocolates stem from the need to numb my tongue to sleep with their artful sweetness: how my hollow heart sings with felon satisfaction.

'Maybe the only time when you can have your cake and eat it too is when you're actually eating goddamned cakes.'

And so we laughed again, as we have been trained to. Womanly strength? Or girlish delusion?