He didn't die; ghosts don't have that luxury. Instead, he fell back into the beginning.
He waited. He endured the loop until the house was empty once more. With a spectral fingernail, he picked at the paint, chipping away decades of grime until he reached the slip of paper. He pulled it out and read the words he had written to her when he was whole. He didn't die; ghosts don't have that luxury
Time began to lose its edges. It didn't flow; it sedimented. He didn't die
He watched M leave. He watched a new family move in, their laughter like glass shards in his quiet space. He lashed out, shattering plates to reclaim the silence, but they only replaced the porcelain and kept laughing. ghosts don't have that luxury. Instead