Lonely Are the Free.

   "Mari."

   One clear word rang throughout the entire bathroom. My name. My name being spoken in a voice that should have never had spoken again. A voice that was buried with it's owner. A soft, yet commanding voice. 

   His voice.

  No, it's couldn't be. How could it even begin to be? It couldn't. My mental mind was playing tricks on me. Needed sleep. Needed food. Needed water. Needed freshair. Needed to go home and smell one of his shirts. 

   "Mari, look at me."

   No. No. No. No.

   I couldn't.

   I shouldn't.

   I did. 

  And there he was, clear as day. His posture slightly hunched, hands in the pockets of his faded and torn jeans. Long jet black hair falling just past his sholders. Inky black eyes against an olive complection. 

   I still didn't look him straight in the eye.

  "Gv-ge-yu-i, look at me." 

   He had his do-what-I-say-or-burn voice on. I knew better then to disobey. 

   I look him straight in the eye. Black to grey. I stared at him intently. This, this could not be my August. It's not possible...or is it? In his culture, sure. But, mine? Do ghost really walk around in everyday America? 

   No, not unless you're in New Orealeans, or some other 'haunter' city that appeared on Haunted History. Right? Right?

   "August..." I repeated. My mind drawling a blank. Who's wouldn't after seeing their bestfriend that they had buried a week before up and around?

   The floor spun away from my feet, those ords of the blackest black filled my mind, sight, and heart. I plunged into them. Hitting the floor with a thud heard only by a ghost of bestfriend's past. 

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Gv-ge-yu-i = love in Cherokee.

Trololololo. I don't really know. I wanted to make it long, but I'm not at home, so I don't really have to write. 

Not all of the song chapters are going to be Steve Earle songs, but I couldn't think of any better song.