The day before you died.
A wildebeest chewing on grass. The sun the only thing in the sky.
The sky is gray and wet.
The moment before is now the second to last moment.
The phone is ringing.
There is always a closer moment.
A rustle in the tall grass behind it. A bubble from the watering hole.
I say I love you. You say I know.
Every moment leads to another.
I tell myself this ache will pass. Then it is my knee. Then my back.
It doesn’t die immediately.
Even after it passes, I am waiting for myself to catch up to my body.
This is what a ghost is.
Even after I’ve caught up to my body, there is no way to keep it from moving ahead.
I am always almost there.
I am always there.