The things we do for a love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you, and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love, and it makes monsters of us all.
Ghosts are real. This much I know. There are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land, a time and date, the spilling of blood, a terrible crime. But there are others, others that hold on to an emotion, a drive, loss, revenge, or love. Those, they never go away.
I feel as if a link exists between your heart and mine. And should that link be broken either by distance or by time, then my heart would cease to beat and I would die.