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I never believed in angels, ghosts, spirits or anything of the such; the whole concept of someone being able to come back from the dead, and become an angel, a spirit, a ghost? It was ridiculous, preposterous, and mind-boggling.

So why was I feeling as if someone was watching me? Protecting me, laughing, crying, smiling, and breathing with me? If I was sad I would be comforted, if I was angry I would be calmed, this—this feeling, is nothing more than an illusion.

Ghost, Angels, and Spirits are nothing but a childhood phobia, a sick twisted distortion of the media, these things—these feelings are clearly caused by the fact that Mello was dead. He was dead and was never, ever coming back. And even if was, he wouldn't be an angel with a white halo, or something as punk ass as a spirit, or something as gay as a ghost, if Mello really came back he would want to make himself known. He would do something dumb, crazy, remarkable.

In all honesty, I miss Mello, and I'm trying to make some crazy, fucked up illusion that he's here—haunting me, watching me. That's it. Right?

"So, Matt, you've been hearing things?" Near looked up at me, white hair covering his eyes, a tiny little smirk danced on his lips, as if he wanted to say; 'You are one crazy boy, Mail.' As if I didn't know that already.

"Not necessarily hearing things, I've been—feeling things?" The answer to his question came out as more of a question than anything else. I tried my best to redeem myself with an explanation. "It'll be cold and suddenly I'll feel warm, I'll be lonely then I'll feel someone is with me."

I honestly didn't know why I was talking to Near of all people, he couldn't help me, he probably didn't even know what I was going through. But… he was the only one still alive who knew what Mello had been to me. He saw us together in Mello's last days. Surely he recognized love when he saw it, regardless of whether he could feel it or not.

Then again, Near is one sick fucker, he may look 'innocent and cute' as some deranged hooker called him, but deep down inside he is a mind fuck, a creepy, albino mind fuck.

Oh goodness, I'm sounding more and more like Mello everyday.

I miss him. We knew it was an almost guaranteed suicide mission when we planned it—but I always thought that if something happened, we'd die together. Why hadn't I gone with him?

I'm sorry Mello, but you were wrong about one thing. There is no God. If there were we'd be together right now. Even you can't argue that.

"Feeling things?" Near leaned into me, moving strands of white hair from his face. "Physically?"

I threw him a scathing look, getting up from the small dining room table, and waking over to the refrigerator, "Yes Near, physically, as in poke, poke. Do you have any beer?"

He sighed, shaking his head at me, "Matt knows I am not old enough too drink."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him, flicking my hand as a 'goodbye' gesture, before stomping out the door.

I looked back at the door, shaking my head in disgust at Near's lack of help for me, lack of knowledge, lack of anything for this situation. It was a mistake talking to Near, but that just shows how desperate I am. Maybe I should see a professional, a physiatrist, or something? No. I was not crazy just simply—lonely? Yes, that's it. I'm lonely.

Yes, I shall make some new friends. I will no longer be lonely, nor will this feeling, this eeriness, haunt me. I will be fine.

"I will be fine." Even to me, my voice sounded dead. Empty.

As I continued walking down the streets, towards my flat, I could've sworn I heard somebody whisper 'You have me'.

But then again, it could have been all in my head, right?

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