The Ghost Behind

The moon was high in the sky, the stars glittering, the cold air brushing the nape of her neck. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, its weight grounding her. He would awake to her side of the bed unmade and cold, the morning sun caressing the creases where she had once lain. Her delicate laugh would dance through the air, her perfume riding the gentle breeze. Her ghost would remain to haunt him, prodding at the cracks in his knuckles, the furrow in his brow, the bitterness in his heart, echoing his roars of anger back at him. But she was free. And even as she pushed through the thickest of forests, open space was all she could see.