You Got the Angel...

You got the real version, the living, breathing, present one. He laughs with you, argues with you, chooses you in the sunlight. I got the ghost, the what-if version that appeared in my dreams, but never in real time. You got his hands on your waist, his voice on the line, his name beside yours in different places. I got the echo, his voice in my head when I needed comfort, his name buried in poems I never published, his presence lingering where nothing should have been. But I still hope you hold him like he’s real, because for me, he wasn’t.