deepwaterwritingprompts:Text: Stuck together in quarantine, I realized my partner was haunted. Not h
deepwaterwritingprompts:Text: Stuck together in quarantine, I realized my partner was haunted. Not his apartment, or even his general person, but his human body itself. Enofe is haunted by the ghost of himself from seven years ago. You know the drill: in seven years every cell in your body is composed of right now will have died off and been replaced. There are ghosts of blood cells drifting listlessly through his veins, whispering in his heartbeat, pushing air in hollow murmurs through his lungs and lips and windpipe as I lay my head across his chest. There are ghosts of him that can’t imagine quarantine or breathing through a mask, long-dead muscle fibers stretching and flexing as they get up each day ready to go out into the world, stuck implacably in their dead routines. Seven years is a long time ago. It’s pre-Trump. It’s an eternity. Enofe’s haunted by the ghost of a different man. But that’s easy enough to deal with, hauntings — echoes, cold spots, creaks on the floorboards during the night, apparitions out of the corner of your eye that disappear the moment you turn your head. Things like that are just part of being in a relationship. But it’s the knowledge, looking across the table at him in the apartment and imagining all the skin cells dying in soft snowfall across his face, the blood cells, muscles, a body slowly sloughing itself away, and imagining that I am seven years from now, older, seeing the ghost of him still haunting this apartment, nothing between then and now but the sequence of all the ghosts who have lived here in-between. -- source link
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