Ghosts

There are some days that I still have to bypass Trenton. I’d like to blame it on the beauty of the live oak lined road that I take to detour, but that wouldn’t be the truth. Your truck is no longer parked out by the road. That absence still bothers me after all this time.

Most days, I have to take the long way around, as driving past your house still puts a lump in my throat. It has sold…it belongs to someone else. Now, it simply sits as a structure with walls built of “what ifs” and a roof made of “could have beens” for me. Some days I wish someone would simply bulldoze it, so it wouldn’t taunt me; but others, I’m thankful for its reminder that you were once here with me.

That’s the thing about living in a small town. When a person leaves, that void is felt. It resonates through the community like the rippling effect of a stone skipping across a pond. Their ghosts still walk the streets, presenting reminders of themselves from time to time; leaving their loved ones longing for more than just a memory.