Novel & Cerita The Ghost Of You Lyrics

Marcus, the quiet guy from accounting leaned against the door, arms crossed, with a bitter smirk twisting his lips. “McAllen,” he said. “You’ve been looking real happy lately. I see you enjoy your late night with the boss.” My stomach dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stepped closer, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. “ I saw you leaving the private elevator. Looking like a man whose ass has taken some cock. You’re not the first, you know. The Ghost destroys anyone who tries to get close. You’re just the latest toy.” “The Ghost?” I laughed it off, but my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Sounds like some movie legend bullshit.”

He only smiled at me and then watched me go to the kitchen. As I turned towards the kitchen, a melody bubbled up from within. I began humming the tune of "Ghost" by Justin Bieber. The song held a special place in my heart. It wasn't just the catchy rhythm or Bieber's smooth vocals. Every note echoed the bittersweet memory of my mom.

I'd rather take this to my grave than have Collin know. I'm a tainted victim. My kisses are worthless. My touches are defiled. I am no longer human. I am murdered by the damned. I am a ghost. A ghost that walks through walls unnoticed. Ghosts are there but can't be hurt by the forces of this world. Forget eating, forget therapy, forget Italy, forget Collin... Forget...forget...forget...

The room was very quiet. I looked at the blank screen for a long time. My breakfast was in front of me — still warm, still exactly what it was — and the garden was outside the window in its usual morning state and the patrol would make its rotation in however many minutes and everything in the immediate world was precisely as it had been thirty seconds ago. Ghost is most likely deceased. I said it in my head once, the way you repeat something to make it real. Then I said it again. The thing about a name that isn't your name is that you don't know how much of you it is until it's gone.

he murmured. “I still do.” “Then why do you touch it when you’re mad?” Ghost’s throat worked. “Maybe it reminds me what I lost.” The air between them trembled. For a heartbeat, Ghost thought he might actually close the space might actually reach for him but instead he stood, walking away before he did something he couldn’t take back.

I shouted at the phantoms, but they did not seem to hear me, and some of them even came upon me with their mouths open. Fantasy, it's all fantasy! You cannot hurt me! I said to myself. "Who are you? Who are you? " asked one of the ghosts in a shrill voice. Who am I? Who the devil am I? I do not know how to reply. "Dance with us!" Another ghost became as high as a wall, and he obscured all the light in front of me. "You will be with us, forever!" All the shadows were singing in unison, "Stay with us, forever!" "

Some invisible force seemed to hold me back, and I had no choice but to follow Helena as she drove aimlessly to a random bar. She stumbled through the door, her high heels clacking chaotically on the floor. "Give me your strongest drink." The bartender gave her a glance and silently poured a half-full glass, setting it in front of her. She grabbed it and downed it in one gulp. The burn of the alcohol made her cough, and tears slid down her cheeks. "Nathan… Nathan…" She lifted the glass again, staring blankly at the amber liquid, her voice heavy with pain. "Why did you leave me? Why… didn't you let me be with you even for the last moments?

Then, a voice, cold and utterly devoid of emotion, sounded not in my ears, but directly in my mind. “I dare you to repeat that.”

And she has that ghostly glow with a smile so lively. Her voice is smoke and honey and every reckless thing she ever was. Holly (crooning into a microphone made of moonlight): “Bye-bye blackbird… Nobody here can love or understand me… Oh, what hard-luck stories they all hand me…” Every ghost in the room is staring like she hung the moon. Al actually has tears in his eyes (real ones, silver and impossible). When she hits the bridge, the piano starts playing itself (some long-dead jazz cat who never left the bench).