A short story by Candice Louisa Daquin
By Candice Louisa Daquin
Usually, it was a time for introspection and loneliness.
Her ex-boyfriend from years ago would write across the static wires enquiring after her in a solicitous way, which bespoke of his own alienation more than his feelings for her. He was always an empty cup; her friends would remind her. Chipped and cold.
Thank the Gods, she’d left him, just as she left her homeland and flung herself out there into the universe to be made anew. She didn’t want to take ghosts with her, she wanted to leave them in their glass cases to gather dust and be forgotten.
Wherever you go, there you are.
Every New Year she thought of the past. The ghosts of who we were hovered. She wasn’t part of then and she wasn’t part of now. Somewhere in between. Something recreated and…
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