She visits every Christmas.

She wears the robe she wore on our honeymoon, green and translucent. She wears it well, like shortly before–

It is nothing she’d have worn in public, before. But no one else can see her, so she isn’t in public, not really.

We find a time to talk alone. It’s wonderful to catch up, necessary, leaving me empty and yearning.

I’ve seen a therapist. He said the visions would fade, and that they don’t lock people up for hallucinations anymore. It never faded, but I’m not locked up, either.

I wake up cold, earth-born in winter.

(This story is written for Loren Eaton‘s Advent Ghosts 2009 contest. Click the link to see the rest.)

[This story was originally published on 12/24/2009]