Here in the haunted hallows of the romantic woods, there are year-old deer bones scattered among the grass. Here, the wind stirs the rough bark of sleepy elms, groaning softly as they slip past one another. And it is here where you disappeared 7 years ago, leaving me to chase after your long forgotten ghost. Every morning I come to this spot, and every morning I tell myself “this is the last morning”. Yet, here I am again, making my way through bones and bricks and branches betwixt skeleton leaves, dreaming of ghost deers and untangling my limbs from spiderwebs that leave invisible threads dangling in my hair, catching light in the sun and making me feel a lot older than I really am. Then again, a lot of time has passed hasn’t it? Enough time to heal a broken heart for sure. But then, why am I still searching for your grave?