Why do ghosts visit on Sunday afternoons?

I’m in the living room half-way through my ham and cheese sandwich when my eyes cross path with the Xbox. Relax PlayStation enthusiasts, I’m not talking about the console. I’m referring to the item in one’s house that’s directly associated to one’s ex partner. In my case it’s a letter box. 

Inside that box are the letters we exchanged with my ex when the Atlantic Ocean used to stand in between our bodies. The letters themselves don’t hold any valuable information, dark secrets or big revelations. Their meaning is symbolic and represents a very specific time period in my life. A time when I was trying to define myself and what I’m worth by being in a relationship. All of a sudden, ham and cheese don’t taste all that good. As a matter of fact I feel a little sick in the stomach.  

We were together for two years much of which we spent in different parts of the globe. Even though the verdict’s been out for quite some time on how things go in these situations, we thought we’re different, we thought we’d be the exception. Marathon chats on camera, endless I miss you texts and hours of visualizing human contact formed the basis of our relationship pipedream. We jumped on flights to surprise each other and wrote letters hoping that sprinkling reality with some man-made magic would make the whole thing a little less difficult. It didn’t.  

Most people say they have no regrets, that everything happens for a reason to form you into the person you are today and that you better regret for something you have done rather for something you haven’t.  

Fuck that.  

I feel regret stuck in my throat like a lump I can neither spit or swallow. I’m suffocating. I’m crying for me. For all the lost time I will never get back. I don’t mind the heartbreak or the loneliness, I’ll fight through it. But I do care about the time. Time I could have invested in myself, in going out and tasting life instead of imagining how it would be with you. I don’t blame you for not loving me, I blame me for believing that you could. 

I look around and darkness is having a serious conversation with silence. My pulse is racing. I fell through the rabbit hole and crawling back to reality seems to be having its toll on my breathing. The letter box is still in its place only now it seems less daunting.  

I open the front door to let some air in and the ghost out.