You were a semi-truck plowing down the highway, and I simply an innocent bystander. By the time you were done with me, I was a bloody mess and you miles down the road. My tongue danced around your lies as you pulled me into you, only to push away. And when you were gone, my ears would ring from the words you left behind. You were the ghost haunting my voicemail. A sound that was left from a distance, but hung around long enough to replace the space you once occupied. Even as images of you seemed to fade with time, the haunting still continued. I found myself helpless when it came to the delete button. My fingers hovered over them, even after enough time had passed for the healing to create scar tissue. So a voice that is nothing, but a memory, is left to haunt me.

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