Dedicated with love and devotion to the one who walks with me, stands beside me, and holds me so gently that my soul finds the comfort needed to breathe freely.
to cling so fiercely
to a love who is gone
and still deeply love
the man
standing before me?
Half of me
would just as soon die,
reach through memory
to the man
who once saved my soul,
who laughed with his whole body,
slapped his knee at his own endings,
told me the same stories
until the telling itself
became comfort.
He is the ghost I carry,
not because I cannot let go,
but because warmth like that
does not know how to leave.
It follows.
It lingers in doorways.
It reaches for me
in unguarded moments.
The other half
wishes against all hope
that life will last long enough
for the man beside me
to walk the years with me,
loving
until the final stones are set.
Pain has been his companion
long before I arrived.
Love has not been gentle with him -
one woman lost to death,
another to the sea.
And still he holds my grief
with careful hands.
Still he makes room
for the ghost between us
without complaint,
without asking me
to set it down.
I entered his life
with no expectations,
my heart already broken,
needing affection
and acceptance too.
And we found love -
steady and real.
He reads the long threads of history,
traces what was
to what is coming,
always moving forward,
always thinking ahead.
He is the steady
to my spiral.
The logic
to my mania.
I am the laughter
to his seriousness,
the stop sign
to his overthinking.
He is not the ghost.
He will never be the ghost.
He is something else entirely:
a man who chooses to stay
knowing full well
what walks behind me.
And so I am choosing too.
The ghost will always linger.
I will not pretend otherwise.
It will slip into the room
on an ordinary evening,
trailing laughter,
the echo of a punchline
I already know.
But I am not leaving.
I am here,
not despite the shadow,
but knowing it will always
walk behind me
as I walk toward you.
To the end of my days,
however that looks,
I am yours.
And I love you dearly
for every quiet kindness
you never had to give.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-03-07 at 04:34
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The Ghost I Carry
How is it possibleto cling so fiercely
to a love who is gone
and still deeply love
the man
standing before me?
Half of me
would just as soon die,
reach through memory
to the man
who once saved my soul,
who laughed with his whole body,
slapped his knee at his own endings,
told me the same stories
until the telling itself
became comfort.
He is the ghost I carry,
not because I cannot let go,
but because warmth like that
does not know how to leave.
It follows.
It lingers in doorways.
It reaches for me
in unguarded moments.
The other half
wishes against all hope
that life will last long enough
for the man beside me
to walk the years with me,
loving
until the final stones are set.
Pain has been his companion
long before I arrived.
Love has not been gentle with him -
one woman lost to death,
another to the sea.
And still he holds my grief
with careful hands.
Still he makes room
for the ghost between us
without complaint,
without asking me
to set it down.
I entered his life
with no expectations,
my heart already broken,
needing affection
and acceptance too.
And we found love -
steady and real.
He reads the long threads of history,
traces what was
to what is coming,
always moving forward,
always thinking ahead.
He is the steady
to my spiral.
The logic
to my mania.
I am the laughter
to his seriousness,
the stop sign
to his overthinking.
He is not the ghost.
He will never be the ghost.
He is something else entirely:
a man who chooses to stay
knowing full well
what walks behind me.
And so I am choosing too.
The ghost will always linger.
I will not pretend otherwise.
It will slip into the room
on an ordinary evening,
trailing laughter,
the echo of a punchline
I already know.
But I am not leaving.
I am here,
not despite the shadow,
but knowing it will always
walk behind me
as I walk toward you.
To the end of my days,
however that looks,
I am yours.
And I love you dearly
for every quiet kindness
you never had to give.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-03-07 at 04:34
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
