There comes a point where the ghost of someone feels less intoxicating and more… tedious.
And that’s where I am with you, Dean.

It used to be that your name was a pulse under my skin,
your memory a whispered drug I couldn’t quit.
But now?
Now it’s just a weight I keep waiting to drop.
A burden, not a blessing.
A glitch in my system I forgot to debug.

The signs still come; your car’s make and model haunting intersections,
your name screamed into my dreams without warning,
your shadow dancing in songs I didn’t cue up.
And I don’t even flinch anymore.
I just exhale, because it’s not fascination anymore.
It’s inertia.

I’m not sitting here romanticizing the connection.
I’m not crying into my pillow wondering what I did wrong.
Those days? Dead & gone.
What’s left is this dull, lingering static of your energy.
This half finished sentence in the story of my life that I’m sick of re-reading.

So here’s the thing: just come back already.
Not because I need you.
Not because I crave you.
But because I’m ready to be done.
I’m ready to either punctuate this chapter or rip the pages out altogether.

Come back so we can either define the inevitable, or finalize the disconnect.
Are we friends? Are we strangers? Are we nothing?
Because I’m standing at the threshold of my peace and you’re the last ghost still knocking.

Either come in quietly or leave entirely, but either way close the damn door behind you.
I am ready to move on.
With you, without you; but never in between.

Because I’ve got better things to do than wait on a shadow to materialize.
I’ve got better things to feel than the phantom of something you can’t even name.

So this is me telling your ghost:
time’s up.
Either haunt me properly or disappear for good