Her Spectre

[ErikaP13]

She wrote this sitting in a by-now familiar room that was not her own, on a sunny mild summer afternoon. The sun was slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows in that oh-so-cliche way it tends to do during moments of romantical musings. It may have been the lick of fantasy in her mind left over from hours of reading about elves and dwarves and magical beings that cast soft edges to everything the sunlight touched. But then again it may also have been the light burning away at the hard edges of reality. Whichever it was, everything around her seemed soft and fuzzy and utterly content.

To the city-bred girl the sounds of the wildlife resort where she spent her vacation seemed unceasingly quiet. The only sounds to be heard was the twittering of birds and the blowing of the wind. It was peaceful and, again, completely cliche; a storybook moment.

As often happens in quiet moments, her mind jumped to fill the blank and dull, normal holes created by reality
One could say she has an active imagination. However, it is not active so much as insistent, demanding and uncontrolable. Insatiable. She had little control over it and its creations. She had come to think of it as an entity of its own, with a mind and a spirit unique to itself.

She loved her imagination. Without it she feared she would have gone entirely insane years ago. It filled in every boring corner of the very square world she lived in and at the same time smoothed out the edges of the rigid society she had to endure. But what she loved most of all was that her imagination could give her something that nothing else in this world could. Her imagination gave her her ghost. Her beloved spectre.

She was almost embarrassed to admit the frequency of the appearance of this spectre. She often wondered that she might, subconsciously, have become lonely. For why else would her mind take to creating this person, who so often and accurately fulfills every need, hidden fantasy, and desire that she might have had?

One would think she’d be scared of a ghost in her head, but she wasn’t. She never had been. He was her friend.
This feeling of friendship is dificult to describe to someone on the outside. She never spoke to him with words, nor did she weave him into her stories as she did all other people in her life, real and imaginary alike.

No, this person was a feeling. Something deeply personal that she kept hidden and treasured from the rest of the world. She never wanted to see him tainted by the ugliness that invaded her world. The violence, the hatred and the indignity of human life. She wanted him untouched, unaffected and wholly her own.

She could feel him smile rather than see his lips pull back and his eyes crinkle at the corners. She could feel his laugh rather than see it twinkle in his eyes or hear the sound with her ears. She felt his thoughts and feelings rather than heard them spoken. She had no sense of his age or his height or his weight; no idea as to his physical identity. She knew only that he is beautiful to her and that she is beautiful to him. She knew that he was happy when he was with her, as she was with him. She sensed that they would have been something more than mere friends or lovers or family had he been flesh and blood as she is. They were soulmates even though he did not exist outside her head. But oh, he was real to her.

Some may argue that this person exists somewhere else in the world and that she may have had a preceding spiritual awareness of him as soulmates sometimes do. Others may argue that she was simply lonely and had an urge to find that special someone that was created for her alone, which she admitted to herself was more likely the truth. Some may say that he is a projection of her own self onto a more desirable form, caused by the feeling of dissynchronisation with the modern world she so seldomly fit in.

Whatever the case may be, his company was a comfort to her. He comes to her in many forms. Sometimes it is like this day, in a moment of peace. Other times it is late at night when the lack of a true companion feels deepest, that he comes to her mind as a comfort of love and caring. And yet more she sometimes sees him smile at her through the eyes of a friend, a stranger, a teacher.

How crazy this must sound to someone outside her mind; to someone who doesn’t know. How insane it must be to hear someone describe their perfect spectre as though they are in love. I can imagine the thoughts in your head as you read this. ‘Poor girl, how lonely she must be’ or ‘what a nutcase’ and even ‘I know exactly what you mean’.
But do not pity her because she found what most of us will strive our whole lives to get. She found love and she found peace. She found a happiness inside herself that most of us are incapable of comprehending much less replicating.

Yet at the same time, do not envy her her love. For while she has found this miracle of miracles, it comes with the deepest of sorrows. She will never know the touch of her spectre nor the sound of his voice. His presence will always be but the ghost of a thought. The source for her love and peace and hapiness resides only in herself. It will never take form and it will never be understood.

She will forever be ridiculed as the adult with an imaginary friend. A person who was so desperate for love that she had to create it for herself.

No man will ever best her spectre. They will always fall short of her heart’s expectations. For they can never be him. He was created to fit her mind and heart in a way that no other person alive ever would. It was simply impossible.

And while she may have been deliriously, ridiculously happy to have her ghost inside her to be called on whenever she needed him, she would never be completely satisfied with the incorporeal being.

She hungered for physical touch, just the brush of a hand or the touch of an arm. She longed for the sound of laughter other than her own; for a voice that would never speak. Even the simple pleasure of taking a moment to look at him was denied her for he never really took form. He was just a feeling.

People might think her crazy for holding on to her dream of the perfect spectre. She put herself through so much pain and loneliness for the simple comfort of his presence in her mind. But they would never know the comfort that his presence could give her. They would never know the true depth of loving something that was essentially herself.

And it was in this that she found her true love. Herself. For that is what he was. He was her, every bit as much as she was herself.

[Eclecticmama]

Beautifully written! I loved all of the perfect descriptions that really made me feel her emotion. It made me stop and think of all of the times I have gotten lost in my own imagination. I can really relate to this!

[ErikaP13]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read and leave a comment. I'm happy you liked it

[DC Brown]

What an interesting story! Well written and thoughtful. I enjoyed it very much.

[ErikaP13]

Thank you, DC, for reading and letting me know what you think. Feedback is always appreciated

[maggi3]

This writing style is enchanting, and the story itself is unique and fascinating. I especially liked the ending and the beautiful imagery throughout the story. Great job!

[ErikaP13]

Thank you so much, Maggi! Having my writing called enchanting really made my day.

[Artizi]

Beautifully written, I loved it Congrats, I really enjoyed your style.

[ErikaP13]

Thanks so much, Artizi! It means a lot