Annabell P.O.V

I stand in the warmth of the shower letting the clear water run over me. The shower, Being my favorite place to think, gives me remanenceing comfort. I can think back to the time when I felt a touch closer and warmer than this water. Andy's touch, Though sometimes rough and shakey, Was all I ever needed.

I slide into my pajamas and Andy’s old hoodie while sliding into my bed with a book. At least with this I can pass the time in others then my own. Classics. And silence. Silence, With the exceptions with a couple of Andy's mixtapes shuffling through my stereo. He has always had remarkable taste in music ranging from old rock to newer bands. I sit and digest my book.
.
"We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel, and looked at each other for the last time." I read. Such a beautiful book. I would be normally, be forever ingested in my book. But a familiar mist of cold runs up my back giving me goosebumps.

“Stop it Annabell, You're insane” I mentally scowl myself. It was a dream last time. Ashley, I bit my tongue, Is right. He is never coming back. This is all in my imagination. Andy. Is. Gone.
Its possible, in the very back of my mind. That everything I have grown to believe so strongly is very true. A person, a lover I might add. Can come back from the dead to love me again? No.

“Annabell” I hear a familiar dark and soft voice say. I fight my gaze, Its not real Annabell, Go to sleep.

But I can’t help myself, I'm drawn to this boy like a magnet, I would give up my next breath for Andy “Andy” I say horsley “Is that you?”.

I turn my head, my eyes do not lie. He is. Clear as day. Truly transparent “Of course it is Annabell” He says with a wide smile and open arms “i’ve missed you”.

“Ive missed you to” I say hugging him muffled by his body, He still smells like the last breath I have gotten of him.

“Andy, Please explane” I beg “What is going on?” I ask.

“Sit” He says sitting on my bed “And I will explain.

Notes

The book I have quoted Annabell reading in this story is: Jack Kerouac, On The Road
Beautiful book, Great read.
I also feel my writing ranges from:
1. Preppy white girl doing an English essay that is dew tomorrow. :/ #sorrynotsorry
"And Andy like sooooo put his ghostly hand on my like lower back area"

2. Old English major from the 1800s
"Andy, shining in his majestic ghostly beauty, strikes me with his hand".

3. I am nonsince