The ghost on Hill Street lingers at night. It dwells there to bring amnesia to haunted souls. And it’s found in the city of lost love. I know because I’ve walked down that street and I remember forgetting all but one thing.
It was a fall evening when I lost my train of thought to the wrong step. I was enjoying the autumn weather on a walk when I began musing about my dear love. The crisp air and scarlet leaves reminded me of the beauty and growth it’s endured over time. A harvest of moments and memories that would truly last. And as the night came, I steadily wandered onto an eerily quiet street. A street where I’d inevitably find the spirit.
Daunting footsteps seemed to trace me, but when I turned around, no one was there. Suddenly the air became a brisk cold as I saw a shadow cross the street. I felt consumed by the lonely scene, and each step felt like it would last forever. Then came the whispers. Every last one grew until I heard my name, and that was when I started forgetting. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there as fear raced through my beating heart. So I ran as fast as I could, picking my memory for who mattered to me, who I loved, or simply anything at all.
The unsettling phantom played its games until the end of the street. And as I stumbled home, I sadly realized that I couldn’t remember the places where I truly belonged. But there was one thing in the back of my mind, a familiar face and touch that brushed my memory. It was the hopeful love that I’ve always known. I saw it as clear as a sunrise over the Pacific Ocean. And in the chaos it brought me peace.
About three weeks passed until my memories started coming back and it made me wonder. How truly beautiful is it to walk through darkness and come into the light with an unforgettable love tugging at your heartstrings and patiently waiting to heal them. And how powerful must love really be.