Spirits.

Have you ever summoned a spirit? It’s eerie, isn’t it? To have a piece of the past existing with you in the present? To take a piece of the past and place it in the future?

Memories are spirits, you know. We drudge them from the past to sit with us in the present. They exist in a space we can’t fully access, a time we can’t quite place, a world that we all feel but cannot see. I summoned a memory of us. From when? I can’t quite remember.

The memory came in the form of blue and gray text bubbles, fast food orders, and disembodied lyrics and melodies to songs we never sang. It was the scent that lingered on my pillow three days after you left, the tube of toothpaste you paid for (for a reason I can’t begin to understand), the record I almost bought when we were at Target that I’ve seen every time I’ve gone to that store since.

I summoned a memory the other day. The one where you called me from over there to “check in.” Remember we spoke for three hours, looking for reasons not to hang up? I looked at you—a glint, admittedly, in my eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing. What?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing—we both knew.

I summon this memory when I miss you. I’ve missed you a lot lately. I see you in spaces you’ve never been, spaces you don’t belong.

That’s the danger of summoning spirits—sometimes they haunt you.