April 25, 2025
By: Marcus Ellison

There’s someone I think about more than I should. A woman who somehow managed to leave her fingerprints on places in me I didn’t even know existed. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding cruel or foolish—maybe both. But it’s the truth.

We had something once—years ago. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Life had its way of pulling us apart, like a slow tide dragging two people out to opposite shores. She moved on. I did too. Or I thought I did.

Now I’m married. I love my wife. She’s kind, supportive, beautiful in all the ways that matter and don’t. But every so often—especially in quiet moments—I think of that other woman. Her laugh. The way she used to look at me like she could see every inch of my soul and wasn’t afraid of it. That kind of connection doesn’t just go away, no matter how far you bury it.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering… if her situation ever changed—if she were suddenly single again—would I find a way to be with her? I hate that part of me exists. It’s selfish, it’s wrong. But it’s real.

To my wife, if you ever read this: I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this kind of honesty. You didn’t ask for my past to still have hooks in me. You came to me with an open heart, and I wish I could say mine was completely yours. I try every day to make it so.

But love doesn’t always play by the rules. And some ghosts don’t stay buried, no matter how much dirt you throw over them.